


Hiraeth

by Phoenix_Massing



Series: Lana Shepard [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s), POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 19:50:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Massing/pseuds/Phoenix_Massing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Posting concurrently with "Cold Fluorescence" - The adventure continues as Shepard rallies the galaxy to prepare against the reapers. As the weight of trillions of lives settles on her shoulders, Shepard begins to find herself coming apart at the seams, falling victim to the ruthless calculus of war. Shakarian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can be read as a stand-alone piece if you choose not to read my other Shakarian fic (since not everyone likes a slow burn through ME2).
> 
> Author's Note 2/26/17: This work was overhauled and retconned a little bit.

The trial was, in so many words, a political shitstorm.

Shepard was all but dragged away from the _Normandy_ in handcuffs, escorted by six marines in full-body armor. Whether for her protection or theirs, she wasn't sure. From the Citadel, she was shuttled to Earth. Alliance North American Headquarters to be exact. Vancouver was beautiful, at least for the two minutes she saw of it as she was marched between buildings and into a holding cell.

A flurry of scientists and Alliance personnel visited her over the next few days; the scientists taking blood and tissue samples, testing her reflexes, making notes. The Alliance personnel were of the psychologist variety. She had nothing to say to them, and spent the hours they attempted to speak with her silently singing old Earth songs in her head. She never lowered her eyes, instead focusing on a plain square of wall over the shrink's shoulder. She never showed any sign of weakness. She was Ahyoka Shepard, Alliance marine, Savior of the Citadel. She had defeated death, the Collectors, and her past. No amount of physiological prodding would break her. Her mouth was kept firmly shut, and for three weeks she spoke to no one, not even Anderson. Her throat grew raw from the pain she held back, but she did not cry.

The Batarian Hegemony was demanding blood. The Alliance put as much muscle behind her as they could muster. In the end, they came out on top, and once the Hegemony had packed up and headed home, no one seemed to know quite what to do with Shepard. She was a grenade with the pin removed that nobody wanted to be responsible for holding. Somewhere along the chain of command, Anderson decided that they best way for Shepard to continue to stay safe would be for her to remain in Vancouver, under guard. Indefintely.

For the first two weeks of her incarceration, Shepard decided it wouldn't be that bad.

Her room (cell) was large, like a studio apartment. There was the comfy bed, a bookcase sagging under the weight of all the novels waiting to be read. Her window even opened to let in the occasional cool breeze.

After the first two weeks of her incarceration, Shepard began to hate everyone.

Lieutenant James Vega had been assigned to oversee (guard) her during her time under lockdown. He was something of a bore to her; easily over 200lbs of pure honed muscle, and most likely a very capable soldier. He was funny, in a way that bordered on what some would consider flirtatious, but Shepard could see he had a soft side to him as well. It took her three weeks to actually acknowledge his presence, and she smothered a laugh when he jumped at the sound of her voice.

After establishing a mutual respect for each other, Vega began sending covert messages to some of Shepard's outside contacts, namely Liara and Kasumi. When she had surrendered herself, Alliance had removed her omni-tool implant and restricted her personal terminal access to strictly e-books. No messages in, no messages out. Vega, however deep his loyalty for Alliance ran, had more respect for Shepard, and considered her incarceration as an insult to everything she had accomplished. She knew he wasn't totally sold on the idea that a powerful sentient race hell bent on the destruction of humanity was lurking somewhere out in deep space, but he respected her for all she had done prior; the Skyllian Blitz, Elysium, serving under Anderson.

The messages were few and far between. Shadow Broker duties kept Liara busy, but she also invaluable when information was needed. Shepard had Kasumi trying to keep tabs on Garrus, to make sure he was safe, but strictly under the radar; she was worried about his guilt by association. The thief was already on the Citadel, probably wreaking havoc at the many casinos there. Her brief and rare messages were always the same; Garrus had returned to C-Sec (again), where he tried to rally as many people to Shepard's cause as possible.

During the second month of her incarceration, Vega stopped by her room with an urgent message from Kasumi: _Hierarchy called; Palaven-bound. No contact established, will let you know when I have more info_. Shepard knew it was a possibility that Garrus would return home to visit his family; his mother was terminally ill, and he had yet to see her since leaving C-Sec to take down Saren. But the Hierarchy calling him home…a million half-formed scenarios swam through Shepard's head, none of them solidifying into anything more than nonsense. Kasumi's message had been heavily encrypted and routed through a comm buoy, meaning she too had left the Citadel. Since becoming the Shadow Broker, Liara was never in one place for very long, which made her impossible to reach. Shepard resorted to sending coded messages to her work terminal, hoping nobody would break through the encryptions. By default, Shepard knew Liara wouldn't respond or send messages from her personal omni-tool; the data packet could be traced back via comm buoy or extranet connection. It was too big of a risk. Frustrated, Shepard sent a message to Liara, or rather Liara's assistant, asking her to look into Garrus' departure.

Three long weeks later, Liara was able to respond back.

_S,_

_The turians are gathering forces; half of C-Sec was called back to Palaven. My sources there say there was a terrorist attack on their colony world Taetrus; a separatist movement commandeered a ship and crashed it into the capital. Casualty rates are over 100,000. Acanthus Vakarian has come out of retirement and has been acting as Advisor to the Primarch. I'm sorry, that's all the information I have. Somewhere in transit I was unable to get messages through to Garrus' omni-tool. I have people looking, but their security is so tight I'm not sure how long it will take to get news. Will keep you updated._

_L._

Shepard sat down on her bed, brow knotted together. It wasn't like Garrus to just up and change his omni-tool code, especially with Liara being his only contact to Shepard. She ran a hand over the side of her neck, massaging the mark left there.

"You don't look very good, Lola," Vega mused, leaning his bulky frame against her bookcase.

"One of my old crew is MIA," she replied, leaning her elbows on her thighs and staring at the bare tile floor. "And this is a hell of a time to go missing."

* * *

 

Garrus was wearing the carpet of his Citadel apartment thin. It had been an exceptionally stressful day; the turian was having a difficult time pushing conversations about "galactic readiness" and "fraud" and "shock story" to the back of his mind. His pacing steps were heavy, as he hadn't bothered to remove his boots upon returning home from his rather unsuccessful meeting with the salarian councilor.

Since Shepard's surrender over two months ago, the _Normandy_ crew had disbanded; some of the Cerberus team (no longer Cerberus), to various drop-off points arranged for them. The non-human members obviously couldn't be held as terrorists by the Alliance, and so Tali returned to the migrant fleet, Grunt to Tuchanka, Garrus to the Citadel. Legion had gone into hiding somewhere, to avoid detection by anyone less-than-understanding.

In a more private moment between Shepard and Garrus the night before she surrendered herself over to the Alliance, he had promised to continue rallying support of the fight against the reapers, even in Shepard's absence. Neither of them knew the extent or severity of the charges against her, nor what would happen if she was found guilty. And so they had parted on the Citadel, Shepard being escorted away in handcuffs by a handful of Alliance marines.

Garrus was unsure of the nature of promises made between them. They had never defined where exactly they stood, with Shepard's trial hanging heavy over them. Brief conversations about the future were rare when the pressure of a suicide mission pressed down on you. He knew it was her way of protecting him; giving him an out if things went sideways and she ended up being court-martialed or put to death. However, that didn't stop him from feeling as if half of himself was being taken away at the hands of Alliance marines.

It had been over a month since his last update from Liara regarding Shepard's well-being. The illusive asari had been swallowed by her Shadow Broker responsibilities, and her covert operations demanded a higher level of security and secrecy than Garrus enjoyed dealing with. As much as his fingers itched to send her a message asking what the hell was taking so long, the practical area of his mind gently reminded him that he didn't have Liara's number.

A shrill pinging noise halted his linear progression across the living room. The personal comm terminal was alerting him that someone was requesting a vid call. His heart leap briefly with a minuscule flutter of something akin to hope, but promptly plummeted to his feet when he saw the identity of the caller.

Acanthus Vakarian was requesting an audience with his eldest child.

Garrus considered ignoring the call, finger hovering over "end", but three years hiatus from his family clenched him in a vice grip of guilt. The call connected.

"Son," Acanthus said gruffly. The older turian was the spitting image of Garrus; steely grey plates, blue clan markings, proud fringe. Garrus noted he looked older, and tired, as if a heavy weight was pressing down on him. "I've booked you a charter to Palaven. You leave tomorrow at 0900. Docking bay F32."

"Hello to you too, dad," Garrus said sarcastically. "How nice of you to invite me home."

"Have you seen the news?" Acanthus replied angrily, shaking his head. The holo projection blurred slightly with his violent movement. "There was an attack on Taetrus. Over 100,000 dead."

Cold seeped into his veins. "What? Who? How?" Garrus half rose from his seat in from of the comm terminal, hands gripping the arm rests tightly. Reapers? Already? He had to get to Shepard.

"Terrorists. Separatist movement stole a freighter and crashed it into the capitol. Fedorian pulled me out of retirement, has me advising him. I need you here to look after Solana and your mother. And also, they're offering you a position here in Cipritine."

Garrus shook his head angrily and sat. The last thing he wanted to do was leave the Citadel, especially since it was where he promised to meet Shepard after her release...if she was released. With no way to contact her, leaving would be like deserting her.

"Dad I just can't up and leave my job again," Garrus plead.

"They're calling back anyone who is military reserve. I'm betting half of your C-Sec coworkers will be on your charter flight tomorrow morning. You're coming home, son. This is where you need to be." Acanthus cut the vid feed, leaving Garrus to stare angrily at a blank screen.

Deep down, he knew he didn't have a choice. His mind wandered to Solana and his mother; with a sharp pang of guilt he recalled the last conversation he had with his sister, not long before they hit the Omega 4 relay. Solana had been so upset with him, understandably. Their mother's illness was a dark cloud hanging over the family.

With a heavy sigh, he started to pack.

* * *

 

Palaven was hot.

His father had been right; several of his coworkers had been on the same charter flight he had taken from the Citadel. The atmosphere in the small ship had been tense and electric. Several of his fellow turians had family or friends on Taetrus, and he felt as if the ghosts of those victims were very much present. It didn't help that their reentry into Palaven atmo had been filled with high winds and chop; the charter ship had finicky mess effect generators, and Garrus found himself pining for the sleek, sure feel of Joker's piloting skills. Eventually, they had disembarked at a shuttle station in Cipritine, Garrus blinking in the blinding sun.

"Garrus! Over here!" His sister, Solana, tall and lean, rushed to him from the waiting queue, nearly knocking him over.

"Sol!" he exclaimed, dropping his luggage to accept her greeting. She clasped his forearms tightly, bumping her forehead against his. She had grown, or rather aged, in his absence. The soft folds of fabric artfully draped over her frame shimmered slightly in the light, making her look as if she was constantly in motion.

"What the hell happened to your face!" she spat, pushing away and holding him at arms length.

"If you think this is bad, wait until you see the other guy," Garrus quipped, dodging around her to hail a cab. Solana punched his arm in jest. He was wearing the scuffed blue armor that was a favorite of Shepard's, and Solana's glancing blow may as well have been a feather brushing against him. The waiting area was teeming with nervous energy; families gathered to receive loved ones safely. The crowd made him claustrophobic and jumpy. They hadn't allowed him to carry any sidearms on the charter flight due to tightened security measures. He felt vulnerable, and his finger itched for the reassuring metal of a trigger.

"That's not a good enough answer. You leave home, quit your job, play hero, get your job back, quit your job, fall off the face of the earth, get your job back, and now you're here. I think I deserve to know where you've been!"

The cab slid up smoothly, and Garrus threw his luggage in the back seat before climbing in. Solana followed, an angry look on her face.

"Sol, I can't really tell you right now," he said carefully, fingers flying over the controls, setting a course for home. "I will, eventually. I promise. But right now, I just want to get home, see mom, and deal with dad."

Solana had the grace to look sheepish.

"Hmm yes. Good luck with that. He's had three years to stew about how you're a terrible turian."

Garrus laughed gruffly.

"So I figured."

The Vakarian house was settled on the edge of Cipritine, where booming metropolis gave way to rolling hills. Low stone walls and long, thick tile roofs stretched over treated glass. The home had once been something of a cottage dug into the side of a hill. In more recent times, newer generations of Vakarians had expanded the modest abode into a sprawling estate with clean lines and a more open floor plan. Garrus could see twin trees growing tall past the turf of the dugout roof; his mother had been partial to gardening, and Acanthus had gifted her with a large courtyard attached to their master suite. The trees had been planted separately; one for Garrus' birth, and one for Solana's. The sweeping branches provided shade, and, in his younger days, a place for Garrus to escape the wrath of his father among the canopy.

"He's probably not even home," Solana said quietly as the cab came to a halt in front of the house. "Fedorian has kept him busy."

Garrus said nothing. He exited the car and retrieved his luggage from the back, pushing down the feeling of foreboding that was steadily creeping up his spine. Taking a deep breath, he focused on walking through the doorway and not smashing his luggage against the door frame.

The house was as he remembered it; white, clean and sparsely decorated. Modern furniture populated the sitting area, and the large kitchen was still open and airy. Sunshine slanted in through the windows, dust motes dancing on a slight breeze. He felt a brief pang of nostalgia; after running for so many years, it felt good to be back.

"I got your old room ready for you," Solana said, breezing past him down the hall. "Mom will probably be awake from her nap soon, if you wanted to say hello. She'll be ecstatic to see you."

Garrus followed her meekly, crossing the threshold to his childhood domain. Luckily, as some point during his absence someone had replaced his teenage sized bed with a more practical adult sized one. The walls were bare of any adolescent decor he had hung. He threw his luggage onto it with a thump and went to find his mother.

His parent's suite was located in the original dugout part of the house. The room was bright, with large picture windows made of thick, treated glass to keep out the radiation. His mother was sitting in bed against several pillows, draped in a thick blanket. Solana was next to her in an armchair, data pad in hand.

"Hi mom," Garrus said softly from the doorway. He teetered on his toes, not sure how to proceed.

"Don't just stand there like a lost pyjack, Garrus," Aella Vakarian quipped from her bed. "Come give your dear old mother a little love."

Garrus smiled and crossed the room to grasp his mother's forearms, bumping his forehead against hers.

"And here Solana made it out that you were quiet and tired," he said, sitting in a chair next to the head of the bed.

"I am not quite the invalid your sister makes me out to be. I think she's jealous that I get to lay in bed all day on doctor's orders while she slaves away at work." From the chair opposite him, Solana smiled and shook her head, not looking up from her data pad.

"Now, son," Aella continued, leaning over to cup the injured side of his face in her hand. "Do tell me where you got this. And I swear, if you tell me it was a bar fight, you are disowned." She gave him a wink.

"Uh. Hmm," he said, scratching his fringe nervously. "Mishap with a…job I took."

"Uh huh," Aella replied, leaning back against her pillows. "A mishap. Well, at least you're here, whether you like it or not. I hear your commander is incarcerated in Vancouver."

Solana made a discontented noise, and Garrus stiffened. "Yes," he replied slowly. His family had no knowledge of just how close him and the commander were, and he wasn't ready to cross that bridge without Shepard there to back him up. He tugged at the collar of his under suit, making sure it was covering most of his neck. "The batarians are out for her blood, and Alliance thought it best to keep her on Earth until the situation is…resolved."

"Brave girl, that Shepard. I've seen the vids. Fiery. It's about time humanity has someone with a bit of sense."

Garrus allowed himself to relax. "She's very capable. Hell of a soldier, even better as a commander. It was an honor to serve under her, as it will be again when they release her." Many long-dormant feelings began to swirl the the surface of his consciousness and he fought to keep them at bay. Now was not the time to analyze suppressed emotions.

Aella appraised him, cocking her head. "Yes, the reapers. Between that and the attack on Taetrus, I'm not sure what to think of the state of the galaxy right now." She shook her head sadly. "If you trust Shepard's judgment, then I trust you. You may have erred on the side of 'rebel', but you sure do know how to follow your heart. You get that from me, you know. That and your breathtaking good looks." She gave him another wink.

Solana laughed, looking up from her data pad. "I'm sure he gets all the ladies with those scars."

"Solana, be nice or don't speak," Aella said, no unkindly. Solana scowled and went back to her work, muttering to herself. "You should see about getting those missing clan markings redone. You should be able to do something over the scarring. Can't have you looking like half a Vakarian," she said lightly, patting his cheek. "I'll have Solana help you do it."

"Thanks, ma."

"I think the boy has more pressing responsibilities than fixing his face," came a gruff voice from the doorway. Acanthus stood on the threshold, arms by his sides and hands tense, a sign of dominance. "Garrus, my office. Now." He turned on his heel with military precision and left.

"Fedorian has been working him ragged," Aella said soberly, fixing a sad gaze on her son. "But you know your father. Just let him get it off his chest and he'll be done with it."

Garrus sighed. Something made him think it wasn't going to be a welcome home chat.

* * *

 

Acanthus Vakarian's office was dark, cold and filled to the brim with various family heirlooms. Several ceremonial weapons and war banners hung from the walls, along with certificates of awards he had won during his time in the military. A huge stone desk took up the center of the room, the elder Vakarian was seated behind it, reading a data pad when Garrus found him.

Garrus had never been allowed in his father's office as a child, but that hadn't stopped him from sneaking a peek when work took his father to the Citadel. One of the large, bone-handled knives was slightly askew in its case; Garrus had picked the lock and tested the sharpness on a coconut-like fruit that grew in his mother's garden. He still had the scar across his knuckle on his left hand from where he had cut himself. He turned his attention to the tense figure that was his father, mentally bracing himself.

"Sit," Acanthus barked, not bothering to look up from his work. Turians, with their firm facial plates, relied more on eye contact and subvocals to communicate what they couldn't due to lacking facial expressions. His father purposely avoiding his eye contact was his way of telling Garrus just how little respect he had for his son.

Garrus sat in a chair opposite him, lacing his fingers together under his fringe.

"So," Acanthus growled, setting down the data pad and turning to assess his son. "Care to tell me where you've been for the past three years?" he sat rigidly in his chair, hands flat on the desk. Garrus could feel the tension rolling off of the older male.

"I was doing contract work in various places. And then I served on the _Normandy_ ," he supplied calmly.

"Ah yes. The new _Normandy_. The bastard child of human and turian design, built by a pro-humanity terrorist group to escort the amazing Commander Shepard around the galaxy on her mission to defeat the reapers." The older turian took a deep breath and rubbed his temple. "I'm sure you are aware, son, that I do not believe this reaper garbage, nor do I believe that a Vakarian should be serving on a human ship. You had a perfectly good job at C-Sec and you shit on it not once but twice. You're lucky Chellick took you back the second time around. I would have kicked your ass out the door to live on the streets." Garrus could tell his father was on a roll, and sat back further in his chair, casually stretching his legs out in front of him.

"A fucking human commander," Acanthus spat poisonously. Garrus bristled slightly, locking eyes with his father. _I'm not going to let you win this round, Dad_ , he thought to himself. "What a disgrace. Do you know the clean up job I've had to do back here? I've seen the vids, Garrus. She totes you around like a pet."

Garrus rolled his eyes. "Never knew you to be so racist, Dad," he said sarcastically.

"I don't have a problem with humans, Garrus," Acanthus spit back. "What I have a problem with is my son quitting a _very_ promising career to travel around the galaxy assisting a pro-human terrorist group and a woman who faked her death for two years."

"She didn't fake her death," Garrus said violently, leaning forward. "The original _Normandy_ went down over Alchera. Cerberus retrieved her body and rebuilt her."

Acanthus shook his head in disbelief, jaw flexing. "You're not helping your case, son."

Garrus raked his fingers through his fringe in frustration. "Look, I know it all seems like a terrible plot from a vid. I didn't believe it either, but I've fought alongside her enough to know if it's her or a clone or some drone wearing her body. It _is_ Commander Shepard."

The elder Vakarian leaned back in his chair, studying his son.

"So, why didn't she report back to the Alliance? Why turn her back on her military?"

"Because the Alliance and the Council have been denying the reaper threat, even though one of the damn things almost destroyed the Presidium. The Alliance didn't even go _looking_ for her after she died. The casket at her funeral was empty." He swallowed back the lump in his throat with a cough, hands balled into fists in his lap. "I was there when Sovereign tried to take over the Citadel, I saw it, and I helped take it down. But nobody is taking it seriously. Do you really think Saren was commanding _geth_? No, Saren was Sovereign's mouth piece, and the geth his minions."

Garrus waited as Acanthus processed the information, heart pounding in his ears.

"As impressive as all this is," Acanthus finally murmured. "And believe me, I _will_ be looking into it more, I still am incredibly disappointed in you, Garrus."

 _Ah, yes,_ Garrus thought. _He's 'disappointed'_. His father's tactics hadn't changed over the years, but Garrus had. 

"Look, Dad, I get it. But have you ever considered the fact that I don't want you to live vicariously through me anymore?"

Acanthus fixed him with a blank stare. "Is that really what you think? That I push you because I'm dissatisfied with my own life?" The sudden silence that filled the room was deafening. Garrus was about to retort when Acanthus cut him off with a finger. "How dare you. All I wanted was for you to succeed. You showed such promise coming out of the Academy, and at C-Sec. You could have had a good life there. But instead, you go off the grid without any warning or clue of where you were, and I have to find out you're still alive by watching vids of you traipsing around the Citadel like a varren on a leash."

Garrus bristled. In his thirty-two years of life, he had excelled at shoving his emotions deep down inside and putting on a blank face. He attempted it now, but was failing miserably.

"As I told mom, it was an honor to serve under Shepard, and I would do it again in a heartbeat," he retorted, snapping his teeth together. "I plan on doing it again as soon as the Alliance releases her. There's bigger things out there, Dad, stuff that-"

"Enough!" Acanthus barked. "You will not be serving under that woman again. You will be staying here, and taking the job that Fedorian has graciously offered to you. You will reenlist in the reserves, and you will serve your home world like any respectable turian should. It's also time that you settled down and started a family."

Garrus could feel heat uncoiling in his stomach, burning with hate. If Acanthus noticed his son's anger, he ignored it.

"Duty, honor, family," he continued loudly. "No more galaxy hopping like some bachelor."

Garrus could feel the heat rising from his stomach to the back of his neck, and fought to keep his composure. Unfortunately, three years away from his family had given him three years to forget just how _deeply_ his father disapproved of him. An assault of emotions threatened to eclipse Garrus' painfully crafted demeanor. The reason he had left home and never looked back was sitting across from him with a violent look on his face.

"I'm sorry dad, but no," Garrus replied cooly. "I'll take the job from Fedorian, temporarily. But I am not reenlisting, nor will I be staying in Cipritine...or Palaven for that matter. Five years ago, I would have accepted your orders, but not now. And not ever. No more."

Acanthus gaped at him, wide-eyed. It was the first time Garrus could ever remember flat out telling his father no. It caught the older turian off guard, and inside Garrus laughed.

"You are a fucking disgrace," his father growled at him, subvocals laced with malice. "Get out of my office. You're to report to the capital building at 0800 tomorrow morning." Acanthus swiveled in his chair and returned to a data pad, effectively ending the conversation.

* * *

 

After a sleepless night filled with visions of reapers and Shepard lying dead in a pool of her own blood, Garrus found himself in the sprawling capitol building at 0745 the next day, wearing a military uniform for the first time in three years. He felt slightly vulnerable without his armor, and tugged at his collar nervously.

Inside the tall stone building was a flurry of activity; the front guards scanned him, approved his identification, gave him a door code, and pushed him through a long hall to a waiting area, where he sat, watching uniformed people hurry up and down the halls. Across from him was a large comm room, and over the activity he could hear the drone of flanged voices from behind the thick walls. Two guards stood on either side of the doors, looking incredibly bored.

"Garrus Vakarian? Is that you?"

A uniformed, female turian with a stack of data pads in her arms had stopped in front of him, a surprised smile on her face. Her pale plates and yellow clan markings practically glowed in the harsh light.

"Domitia? I didn't know you were working here!" Garrus stood to grasp her free arm in greeting.

"I do. I got stationed in Cipritine after I served a few tours on the _Gallant_. Spirits, I thought you would be on the Citadel!"

Garrus scratched the back of his neck. "Ah. Hmm. Yeah, I was. But then everything with Taetrus and well, where I am. I'm just waiting for my dad and the Primarch to get out of their meeting."

"Wow," Domita said, eyes wide. "Well it was good seeing you. I don't think we've talked since we served together on the _Victory_. Here," she said, shuffling the stack of data pads onto her left arm so she could bring up her omni-tool. "Call me. We can get drinks and catch up."

"Uh, thanks," Garrus muttered, bringing up his own omni-tool and accepting the number. "I'll do that."

"Nice seeing you, Garrus," she said more shyly, before walking away.

Garrus took a seat again, rubbing his gloved hands on his thighs nervously. Out of habit, he checked his messages to see if there was any word from Liara. Her long silence was starting to wear on his psyche; images of Shepard laying dead in a cell, a batarian standing over her with blood on his hands popped into his mind. He shook his head violently and sighed. As much as he disliked the Alliance, they would never let anything bad happen to her while she was on lockdown. But he was growing weary of seeing her dead every time he closed his eyes.

"Vakarian," came a clipped voice from the comm room. The doors had hissed opened, revealing his father and an older turian with dark plates and red clan markings.

"Primarch," Garrus said smartly, jumping to his feet and saluting.

"At ease, boy. How are you?" Fedorian beckoned Garrus to follow him down a hallway. "Your father was telling me you're back on Palaven for a bit."

"Yes, for now," Garrus replied carefully, unsure of exactly what Acanthus had told the Primarch as far as how permanent his residency would be.

Fedorian ushered them into a large office, beautifully furnished and complete with a sweeping view of the Cipritine skyline. He took a seat behind a large desk and motioned for Acanthus and Garrus to sit across from him.

"I expect when your Commander Shepard is released from her incarceration, you will be rejoining her on the _Normandy_?" Fedorian asked, not unkindly.

"That was my plan, sir." Next to him, Acanthus stiffened slightly.

"Well, I plan to make use of you while you're here. We've been hearing the reports about the reapers, and while I must admit the business with Saren and the geth was quite the story, I'm more worried about the Council's lack of support on the matter."

Garrus gaped at him, as did his father.

"Now, I've been running myself into the ground with this Taetrus fiasco, and I don't really have time to deal with the ensuing political shitstorm that will follow. But I'd like to offer you the position of Head Reaper Advisor. You'll be assigned a team, of course, and given the highest security clearances."

Acanthus made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Primarch, surely there is something more productive you can assign Garrus to."

"Unfortunately, Vakarian, I've seen the evidence. The threat is there, and it is very, _very_ real. The Council may be ignoring what is right in front of their eyes, but I'll be damned before I let Palaven fall because of stupid politics. The time for action is now." Fedorian slammed his hand on the desk to emphasize his point. "Potitus!"

A young, nervous looking officer stepped into the room and saltued. "Sir?"

"I need you to take Garrus here down to processing and get him all the necessary security clearances. They'll know what to do."

"Sir." The officer saluted again, and motioned for Garrus to follow him.

"Uh, thank you, Primarch," Garrus said, standing to salute Fedorian. The Primarch clapped him on the shoulder with a smile.

"I'm counting on you, son."

"Sir, I will do my best."

* * *

 

Processing was down yet another hall to a small room with white, sterile walls, much like a hospital. There were large windows, but not the sweeping view Fedorian's office had. Potitus, who turned out to be quite talkative, guided Garrus to a chair next to a terminal.

"A nurse will come and take your biometrics and such. DNA, ocular scans, cornea measurements. They'll also take blood samples. Why? I don't know." The young turian rocked back and forth impatiently. "Reaper Advisor? I didn't even know that was a rank. Although I've only been out of the academy for two years, so I wouldn't know anyway."

The kid was giving Garrus a headache, and he was about to suggest the officer go find the nurse when she walked through the door pushing a cart full of various and painful looking utensils.

"Ah, this is my cue to leave," Potitus said nervously, and saluted Garrus before rushing out of the room. The nurse busied herself with rolling up the sleeve of Garrus' uniform, swabbing an antiseptic wipe over the exposed skin.

"I'm going to remove your omni-tool implant, and you'll be fitted with a new one," she said kindly, unclipping the omnitool interface and slipping a sharp tool under the skin of his right forearm with a pinch. When she retracted it, his orange comm chip was clamped to the end. He felt his earpiece pop as the connection from the chip to his skin was disconnected.

"Uh, what about-"

"The new one has all of the codes you need." She handed him a new omnitool interface. "It's the latest model, actually. Since you'll be given the highest security clearances, everything that is sent or received on this will be heavily encrypted. It's also resistant to radiation, so you won't have to worry about that either."

Garrus felt a curl of panic in his stomach. He had been off Palaven for so long, he forgot the planet's natural radiation would interfere with any tech that was not treated properly. Liara knew his number, but he was never supplied with hers, to protect her identity. His reply to her last message was undeliverable, and now she had no way of contacting him. _Well shit_ , Garrus thought sadly. Although, now he had a reason to not call Domitia.

The nurse placed his new omni-tool chip carefully under the skin of his forearm, sealing the puncture with medigel. It would take several hours for the chip to sync with his body's natural electricity and neural network, which left him comm-less and without a translator. Luckily, everyone in the building seemed to be well versed in the Palaven common tongue. _One battle at a time_ , Vakarian, he reminded himself.

"Now," she continued kindly, "I'm going to draw some blood, and then we'll take some ocular scans and cornea measurements." The needle she held in her hand was large and ominous, gleaming in the sterile light.

Garrus leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes wearily, silently sending up a prayer for patience.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some info on Lana "Ahyoka" Shepard, for those who haven't read Cold Fluorescence. She is half Cherokee, raised on Mindoir in a predominately Native American village of researchers. Rescued by the Alliance after the batarian slaver raid, she enlisted at age 17 with special permissions. As I assume is common in a Type II civilization living on a backwater Alliance colony planet, she has retained much of her native language and culture thanks to her family. ISTJ personality type, she is quiet, calm, collected, but can be surprisingly empathetic towards members of her team. Those who know her only through following her career often find her to be intimidating, emanating an aura of authority. After her resurrection, Cerberus becomes number one on her shit list, followed closely by the Alliance.

Garrus was sitting in his office sifting through data pads full of reaper intel when the call came through.

" _Advisor Vakarian, the Primarch is requesting your presence in his office immediately_ ," came a voice over the comm. Garrus rubbed his temple in frustration. He had been awake for almost 36 hours, longer than an entire cycle on Palaven. His team had been working with a munitions supply company to develop a type of incendiary ammo that ate away at cybernetics and metal. Tests had come back promising, but the prototypes melted every weapon it was loaded into. It was proving to be problematic.

The hallway outside his office was a flurry of activity. There was an edge of panic in the atmosphere as Garrus made his way down to Fedorian's office, nearly bumping into multiple people as they rushed around him. The Primach was pacing in front of a massive table. Hovering over the center was a large projected holo of the Milky Way galaxy.

"Vakarian," Fedorian said as Garrus crossed the threshold into the office.

"Primarch," Garrus saluted, coming to a stop in front of the holo display. He could see pinpoints of bright, pulsing light; comm buoys, mass relays and planets blinked up at him softly.

"I received some disturbing data about five minutes ago," Fedorian said softly, raising a hand to zoom in the holo. With the wave, pixels swirled and came to a rest on a system populated by five planets. Garrus noted they were not illuminated, nor were any of the comm buoys or the mass relay. "Batarian space has gone dark."

"When," Garrus said, eyes narrowed at the dull holo.

"Last contact was about four hours ago. A data packet with a destination of a comm buoy orbiting Khar'Shan was intercepted by one of our frigates. The message had bounced back as undeliverable. We can confirm that the entire Harsa system has gone dark. No communications in or out have been received for the last four hours."

Garrus narrowed his eyes. "How many comm attempts have we tried?"

"We've been bouncing unencrypted messages off any of the comm buoys in the system every fifteen minutes for the last two and a half hours, and all of them have come back as undeliverable. Vular system is dark as well. No comm in or out for nearly seven hours."

"You know what this means," Garrus said darkly, raising his head to lock eyes with the Primarch.

"They're here." Fedorian sighed heavily, a sound that shook Garrus to his core. The older turian turned to look back at the dark holo, an unreadable look on his face. "I have three fleets on their way to Taetrus right now to assist with cleanup. Another three are already there. I need _you_ to go to Menae. Take your team. You'll report to General Victus."

"Manae, sir?" Garrus said, looking confused.

"If Palaven comes under attack, I need you on the front lines. Right now, our fleets are spread thin. If worse comes to worse, and we lose Manae, we lose Palaven. I need our best out there, especially with your knowledge of what we're up against."

Garrus took a moment to absorb just how high his security clearances were. Menae had been shrouded in absolute secrecy since the krogan rebellions; almost nothing was known about Palaven's largest moon other than it was the site of multiple military strongholds.

"Sir." He saluted sharply.

"I'll have my people arrange for your way off-world. Departure in two hours." Fedorian turned back to the darkened holo. "Take what you need."

Garrus hesitated, not wanting to overstep his boundaries. "Sir, can I ask why you believed me? My own father doesn't. Hell, the Council and Shepard have been butting heads for almost four years over this. Why you?"

Fedorian appraised him with mandibles pulled tight to his face.

"You're too young to remember the 314 Incident, but I was there in the last year of war," he began, pacing the length of his side of the holo table.

"I was stationed with a small platoon responsible for sweeping the countryside and cleaning up any pockets of human resistance that were left. One day, we stumbled upon a village of sorts, really just a few prefab pods. During our infiltration, a lab was discovered. Crude, obviously set up with minimal supplies and maintained on a tight budget. We had received intel that three of our men were being held there. We went in, guns drawn, and found the three prisoners in fairly decent condition, save for a few surface wounds. They were in the middle of eating, gathered around a table and talking quietly amongst themselves. There was only one human in the lab, a tiny female who started shouting at us as we busted down the door. Shouting at us in _turian_."

Garrus raised a brow plate in confusion, and Fedorian gave a chuckle.

"Yeah, you can imagine how surprised we were. This was, of course, before translators had information available for human dialects. And here was this small, defenseless thing yelling at us to stand down, in our native tongue. Turns out she was some form of military linguist, and had been hopping from camp to camp assisting anyone she could, human or turian. We had to take her in, of course. That was the law."

The Primarch waved a hand at the holo, zooming it back out to a view of the entire galaxy. The tiny pinpoints of light blinked softly as it rotated.

"During interrogation she told us, in fluent turian of course, that the humans who had come through the 314 Relay had no idea what it even did. She admitted how idiotic of an idea it had been, and went on to explain how the turian fleet the humans encountered were the first intelligent life humans had made contact with other than themselves."

Fedorian laughed sharply, running a hand over his face in an uncharacteristic display of humility.

"She said in so many words that ' _your people scared the shit out of my people'_. Which, thinking back, made complete sense. Here are these soft, vulnerable beings flying blindly through a mass relay, and on the other side are large, vicious-looking aliens with more advanced ships and better guns."

Fedorian leaned against the table, tipping his weight onto one hip, eyes watching the lazy rotation of pixels. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it.

"We kept her in interrogation for several months, questioning her, but also making sure she was fed and kept comfortable. Her information was pivotal in convincing the Council to get off their asses and negotiate an armistice. However, since according to Alliance protocols, she had technically committed treason by assisting the enemy, she was handed over to them and immediately incarcerated. It's to my knowledge that her very existence as a military linguist has been wiped from Alliance databases."

Garrus sucked in a sharp breath. Fedorian chuckled at his reaction.

"So, when news broke of Saren going rogue, and you and your Commander went after him, I started to pay attention. It's not public knowledge that General Desolas Arterius recovered a prothean artifact from a downed turian ship on Shanxi. Three human mercenaries found General Arterius and his squad. They killed them all save for Arterius, who eventually was able to overpower the humans. Arterius was attempting to use the artifact to create a race of superior turians. Saren stumbled upon his brother being overtaken by his own creations, and ordered an airstrike to destroy the temple. He always harbored ill will towards humans, especially after the destruction and death of his brother.

"And so, as whispers of prothean artifacts and indoctrination started to come across my desk, I began to realize the Council was doing to Shepard what the Alliance had done to their linguist. The proof was there; I've seen the vids and the holos of this Sovereign. The reports of humans being turned into husks, of Collectors abducting entire colonies on the edges of the Terminus System and using them as the flesh for a new breed of reaper."

Garrus had written reports, of course. Detailing their mission through the Omega 4 relay and into the bowels of the Collector base, the sheer amount of humans held in stasis pods and processed into fodder for the reaper fetus. He'd watched the vid feed taken from Shepard's helmet as they sat on her couch, freshly showered and wrapped up in each other as they tried to come to terms with the fact that they were alive. All of these memories were fresh in his mind, but seemed so far away. And here, the Primarch of Palaven was telling him that the Alliance had a history of using its finest soldiers as scapegoats for their misgivings. How many times had Shepard argued herself blue in the face to the Council, begging them to heed her warnings? She was easily their most decorated N7 agent, and yet due to her actions, was being held by the very people who trained her. Was trying to help every species the bane of the Alliance's existence?

Fedorian stared at Garrus over the holo. "Commander Shepard died trying to make the galaxy a better place for every race. She died for her cause. Cerberus brought her back, and instead of working for a pro-human terrorist group, she took on even more alien crewmembers, including you. She saw you all safely through what most would consider a suicide mission, and brought you all back alive. If there is any human in this damned galaxy that is telling the truth, it's Shepard.

"The destruction of the Bahak System is an unfortunate example of the ruthless calculus of war. 300,000 lives sacrificed to buy time for a trillion others. And here we are, barely prepared, with our thumbs up our asses. Those sacrificed may have been batarian, but I would rather they not have died in vain. The Council and the Alliance seem dead set on vehemently ignoring a threat that has proven itself multiple times, and I would cut my own heart out before I let Palaven fall because of politics."

He shook his head sadly, eyes lingering on the holo galaxy in front of him. "Acanthus Vakarian, as good of a man as he is, allows himself to be blinded by his distain of humanity and his feelings of failure as a father. It is common knowledge that he does not like Spectres, and your commander is the living embodiment of everything he fought so hard against during his time at C-Sec.

"To see his only son proudly serving her is somewhat of an insult to him." Fedorian was not chiding him, his voice quiet and calm. Garrus shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot, hands clasped behind his back.

"However, you have been fighting for what you believe is right, consequences be damned. Going against your very nature and shedding the restraints turian society has placed on you since birth, you have risen above being merely a 'bad turian', Garrus. You are hope for your people, for your home. This is not another average enemy to be fought, so why would I rely on the average soldier to lead the charge?" Fedorian reached out and clapped Garrus on the shoulder, a small smile on his face. "Now, I've wasted enough of your time reminiscing about politics and war games. Go pack, and be ready."

* * *

 

Their shuttle to Menae was not unlike the Kodiak shuttles used by the Alliance. This one was larger, able to fit the two pilots, Garrus and his team of five comfortably. In the aftermath of his meeting with Primarch Fedorian, he instructed that all their data to be dumped on each of their omni-tools, as they would need it on Menae. And so they boarded the shuttle, bags at their feet, and departed Palaven.

In the hurried few hours between leaving Fedorian's office and boarding the shuttle, Garrus had unceremoniously shoved all of his possessions from the locker in his office into his bag. To save space, he opted to leave the scuffed blue armor he knew Shepard loved, and instead donned his new military issued set. It was much bulkier than he was used to; reinforced in places where his old set hadn't been, black ceramic slashed with gold instead of blue and silver. He (briefly) allowed himself to silently mourn the abandonment of armor that had seen him through so much, reminiscing as he loaded heat sinks and data pads into his bag. His high security clearances had allowed for him to carry within the building, and so with the latch of the last catch on his new armor, he clipped the Widow Shepard had gifted him to his back, pushing away memories of the exchange to the back of his mind. Renewed military training had given him a deep appreciation for grenades, and he loaded the mag strips below his shoulder guards with rows of cylindrical explosives. Proximity mines were next, clipped to his waist where they could easily be detached and set in seconds. Assault rifle latched opposite his sniper and pistols on his hips, he decided it felt good to be armed and armored again.

Chop from exiting Palaven's atmosphere brought him back to the present as he knocked his knees against his bag. The vid feed from outside the shuttle, displayed on a screen next to the hatch, showed a clear, cloudless sky. Garrus tightened his grip on the strap he was holding, swaying slightly with the movement of the shuttle.

"Sorry for the bumpy ride, sir," the pilot said over the din of thrusters. "Seems as though we have a weather system moving in and it's stirring up the atmo."

"No worries, Lieutenant. I've seen wor-"

A large bang echoed through the shuttle as it was flung sideways from its flight path, sending Garrus sprawling back across the laps of several of his crew members. The lights in the cabin started flashing red, a klaxon screaming out warning. Garrus struggled to his feet, apologizing to the individuals he had landed on. The shuttle was rocking violently, pitching Garrus side to side as he struggled up to the cockpit.

"Something dropped out of FTL right next to us and caught us in its wake!" yelled the pilot, fingers flying over the controls. His copilot was pulling up diagnostics and attempting to correct their flight path.

"What the hell would drop out of FTL that we wouldn't know about?" Garrus shouted over the klaxons.

As if to answer his question, a single, ear-splitting, bone-shaking note rose over the din of thrusters, warbling and metallic. Garrus felt as if his very soul was being ripped from his body, and the breath was knocked from his lungs as the pilots screamed.

On the vid screen, the dark, immense figure of a reaper passed mere inches from their shuttle, orienting its multiple legs to land thousands of meters below.

"Fuck!" Garrus yelled, watching more reapers drop out of FTL and begin their decent towards Palaven. "Get us the hell out of here! Stealth systems engaged until you set an FTL vector off Palaven. NOW!"

"Sir, IES systems have been engaged since departure. Standard protocol. If we drop them to initiate redshift into FTL, we risk being seen."

"Shit," Garrus said quietly, running a hand over his fringe. "Alright. Can you fly through this?"

The pilots nodded violently, not taking their eyes off the control consoles. Garrus turned to his team. The shuttle suddenly left Palaven atmosphere, the ride becoming smoother, klaxons dying with the flashing red lights. Garrus let out a soft sigh of relief.

"Helmets on, folks. This is going to be a bumpy ride, and we're going to have to ditch as soon as we touch down. Just follow my lead." His request was followed by the sound of helmets being latched into place. "Asellio, Lentulus, let's put those new assault rifles to work. Anyone else with an SMG, get it out. Incendiary ammunition. I need constant fire on my mark. Any questions?" Five helmeted heads shook in unison.

"Any radio contact with Menae?" Garrus asked the pilots.

"Patching you through to General Victus, sir," the copilot responded, opening up a comm channel.

"Advisor Vakarian to General Victus," Garrus said, pressing his earpiece with a gloved finger.

" _Vakarian!_ " barked a deep tinny response. " _Should have known you would bring the party._ "

Garrus chuckled and balanced his helmet on his knee. "I've got reapers inbound to Palaven, we're currently stealthed heading towards your coordinates. Status of LZ?"

" _We've got two reapers on the ground about twenty clicks from our outpost. I've got three platoons on foot heading in to assist. So far we're clear here, but I don't know how long that's going to last. Husks keep popping up everywhere. We've got turrets on the perimeter, but I'm worried about those reapers taking out our comm towers._ "

"Understood. ETA five minutes."

" _Victus out._ "

Garrus double-checked the coordinates on his omni-tool and donned his helmet.

"Sir, we're going to be passing over a hot zone," the co-pilot said, pulling up a vid feed on his console. Menae's surface was pocked with craters and large boulders, a myriad of jagged outcrops and sweeping valleys. Husks were pouring out of flaming sacs and scattering in any direction, spraying white sand and rock in their wake. In the distance, the silhouette of a reaper stood stark against the large orb that was Palaven.

"Let's bring the heat," he said, popping open the shuttle hatch and unlatching his assault rifle. "Asello, Lentulus, kneel here," he pointed to the lip of the shuttle hatch. "Paulus, Strabo and Vatian will cover you here, here and here. Don't shoot each other. The Alliance has jokes about turian friendly fire and I'd rather not live them." He turned to the pilots. "Bring us in low and slow. Let's let these bastards know the cavalry has arrived."

"Sir!" came the reply from the cockpit. The shuttle descended, what inertia dampeners had been active going offline to reroute power to horizontal thrusters. Lentulus rocked forward precariously until Strabo grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back into kneeling position.

"Careful, boys," Garrus chuckked. "Grenades get thrown out the shuttle door, not soldiers." To prove his point, he ripped a grenade from the mag strip on his shoulder and pulled the pin with his teeth. With a toss, he let it fall into a cluster of husks, the explosion spraying gore and cybernetic pieces everywhere. I love new toys, Garrus thought gleefully. His heart was pounding in his throat with adrenaline, and a small part of his mind reveled in being back on the front lines. Where I belong, he added as an afterthought. "Open fire!"

The sound of bullets was almost deafening as his team rained down incendiary ammo. Husks ignited with inhuman screeches, falling to their knees and exploding.

The shuttle swooped down lower, passing over hoard after hoard. Garrus casually tossed a few more grenades out the hatch, humming along to Die for the Cause playing loudly in his earpiece.

"Sir, coming up on the LZ!" the pilot barked. Ahead was an outpost, nestled into a shallow crater. Metal bunkers and shelters had been erected to house supplies and barracks.

"Set us down and get the hell out of here. Set an FTL vector back planetside. I'll send clearance ahead so you don't catch grief for breaking about fifty-seven flight regulations for using FTL in atmo."

"Thank you, sir."

The shuttle came in slow on a bank overlooking the outpost, settling down with a flurry of white dirt.

"Alright, everybody out!" Garrus shouted as soon as they touched down. "Head for the outpost and keep your eyes open!" his team disembarked and began footing it towards the nearest gate. Garrus followed, slamming the hatch closed and pounding twice on the exterior of the shuttle. There was slightly less gravity on the surface of Menae; it took several shaky steps for him to acclimate and gather his legs beneath him. "Advisor Vakarian to Cipritine base" he barked into his helmet comm.

" _Go ahea-…-visor Vaka-_ " came the static-filled reply.

"I have a shuttle inbound from Menae outpost to planetside on an FTL vector into atmo, on my orders. Let them through."

" _Cop-….Pritine Base ou-_ "

Garrus figured that was good enough, and hurried to catch up with his team.

* * *

 

Adrien Victus was leaned over a holo table as Garrus climbed the stairs to his shelter. The general was tall, white clan marking standing out stark against dark plates. He cut an imposing figure in black armor slashed through with red. Garrus had spoken to him briefly before he departed for Menae a month ago, and harbored a hefty respect for the way his mind worked.

"Ah Vakarian. How good of you to make it!" Victus quipped, straightening from his observation and extending an arm to Garrus. The younger turian gripped it in greeting, unlatching his helmet.

"Fashionably late, as always," Garrus shot back. The holo on the table showed a spinning Palaven, with twin moons Menae and Nanus. "Any updates?"

Victus tensed, extending his fingers to zoom in on Menae.

"This outpost is the only one with a standing comm tower at the moment. We've been calling it Alpha. Beta, three clicks away, has intermittent comm channels in and out, but last report was some form of flying creature dumped husks and took out their tower at the same time."

"Harvester," Garrus growled. "They're modified from the organic harvesters that breed klixen. Nasty things."

"How nice." Victus' voice dripped with contempt, and he shook his head. "So far it's been hoards of husks dropped of by these harvesters, but when Echo base checked in a few hours ago, they were reporting several new, unidentified enemies. One of them was strong enough to take out their comm tower like a charging krogan. They haven't reported back in since."

Garrus dropped his bag in frustration. "Have you sent a team over there?"

"I have a squad of twenty men on foot headed there as we speak. The reapers have taken out almost all the comm buoys we have in orbit around Palaven. That seems to be their MO, or so it seems."

"Yeah, they took out all comm buoys when they hit batarian space. That's how the Hierarchy found out. And that's why I'm here."

Victus studied the slowly spinning holo with finite intensity. He looked as if he had many questions, but couldn't decide which one was more important. Instead, he shook his head in frustration and sighed.

"We're on 18 hour rotations here. Fedorian's people let me know you've been up for almost 42 hours. Go find a bunk and grab some sleep. I'll wake you during the next shift change and we can talk more."

Victus pointed him to the nearest barracks, two shelters over from command center. All the bunks were empty, and Garrus set his bag near a lower bed, not bothering to remove his armor before collapsing.

For the first time in weeks, he let his mind wander back to moments he had tried to shove into the recesses of his mind. Just thinking about Shepard was like a sharp pain in his chest. There had been no communication from her or any of their fellow crew for almost five months. His job had been keeping his mind busy, filling his head with repetitive tasks and data memorization just to drown the heart-wrenching guilt he felt for leaving the Citadel. Of course, no one other than military personnel and his family knew his knew omni-tool identicode, but that didn't stop him from using his new security clearances to attempt contact with anyone who might know about Shepard's wellbeing. After many fruitless attempts, he'd given up, and compartmentalized the memories of his time with Shepard away.

But now, amidst the chaos of war, he let himself remember their first night in her quarters. She had painted her face for him with her clan markings, the markings of her ancestors. He knew then, twisted in sheets bathed blue with aquarium light, that he loved her, his reverence for this human woman going beyond anything he could even begin to comprehend. She was fire and fury in human form, deadly precision coiled into a lithe form. For weeks she had practiced sneaking up on him under the cover of her tactical cloak; twice she taken him by surprise and pinned him. He let slip a soft keening noise, sub vocals resonating with sorrow.

Here, amidst the chaos of war, he let himself say her name out loud. Her given name, used in the most intimate and private moments between them. Offered up in nothing more than a whisper, he allowed himself to hope in the form of her name.

* * *

 

Incarceration, topped with gratuitous amounts of stress and anxiety had turned Lana Shepard into something feral. And she knew it.

"Commander, I need you to stay still so I can stitch this!" Chakwas exclaimed, fingers prodding the left side of Shepard's head. Their mission to rescue Liara from the Mars archives had been a success, but she had managed to catch not only an incendiary blast to the face from that damned AI Dr Eva, but a bullet had grazed the side of her skull, causing blood to run in rivulets down into her ear and onto her face.

"It's just a surface wound," Shepard replied, gritting her teeth as the good doctor dabbed antiseptic over the gash.

"Commander, it's deeper than you think. I'm going to need to shave the hair around it so I can clean and stitch it thoroughly."

"Small price to pay I guess," she sighed, and curled her hands into fists in her lap. The top half of her armor had been removed, leaving her upper body swathed in slick undersuit, blood, grime and sweat.

"You are lucky, I will give you that," Chakwas replied over the buzz of the razor. Shepard watched as tendrils of dark hair floated down to cover her fists. Absent-mindedly, she twirled on in her fingers, marveling at the scorched ends. The side of her head had caught fire as she tried to dodge the attack and throw Ash out of the way at the same time; she had snuffed it out by jamming on her helmet as Dr. Eva sprinted out of the archives and into the torrid Mars sandstorm.

The thought of Ash twisted Shepard's gut into a steely knot. Her prone form laying limply over her shoulder, Shepard had practically screamed at Joker to set a course for the Citadel as they crashed into the airlock, and bless him he didn't even snap back with some smartass remark about her tone. The doctors had met them at the docking bay with a stretcher, and Shepard had followed them, sprinting through decontamination and so many doors until a rough hand on her shoulder knocked her out of the room with a violent shove. She had refused treatment until Chakwas had assured her that not only would Ashley be ok for the moment, but the good doctor would gladly join Shepard back on the Normandy.

The twinge of needle on skin shook Shepard from her self-pity. Chakwas hummed softly to herself as she worked, and Shepard counted stitches. Seventeen neat little sutures in all, following her left temple to behind her ear down to the base of her neck. With a swipe of medigel, Chakwas stepped back to admire her handiwork, brows knitted.

"Your hair really took the brunt of it, Shepard," she said, putting down the needle and suture thread to try and smooth down short spikes of hair.

"I'll find some way to fix it," Shepard replied with a shrug, hopping down off the hospital bed and gathering up her armor. "Wouldn't be the first time it's caught fire."

Chakwas smiled. "Somehow I believe that."

Back in her quarters, Shepard unceremoniously dumped her armor on the floor near her bed, and strode to the bathroom to assess the damage. The left side of her face was slightly red, angry looking and shiny. Chunks of her hair had been scorched away into uneven swatches. With a heavy sigh, Shepard gathered the rest of her hair into a sloppy braid, pulling the unharmed locks to the right. The razor she grabbed was meant for legs, but she stuck her head under the faucet, wetting the raw skin. With meticulous strokes, careful to avoid the stitches, she shaved a swatch of charred hair and watched it float lightly to the floor. The cold water felt like heaven against her burnt flesh, and as she exposed more and more skin, the better she felt, until the left side of her head was bald from temple to ear, and down to the base of her neck. She let the razor clatter into the sink as she leaned forward, examining her handiwork from different angles. The stitches were already puckered and healing thanks to the medigel and Cerberus skinweave, and part of her hoped she would have a scar. The sutures would dissolve in a matter of hours, leaving an angry pink puckered line.

" _Commander_ ," crackled Traynor's voice over the comm. " _Admiral Hackett is available on vidcomm._ "

"I'll be right there," she replied to the ceiling. Shepard had seen more of Hackett in the past 72 hours than she had during her entire trial and incarceration. N7 dog tags clinked against her chest as she shucked the rest of her armor in favor for a clean uniform. She still wasn't quite used to the layout of the Alliance retrofitted Normandy; it took her a little longer than necessary to locate the comm room. Hackett's pixelated form shimmered into focus. If he noticed her new severely out-of-regs haircut, he said nothing about it.

"Shepard, I have some bad news," he said, standing in digital parade rest.

"Is there any other kind of news right now, sir?" Shepard asked with a grimace.

Hackett's frown deepened. "I've received word that Palaven is under attack. The reapers hit several days ago and knocked out all communications."

Shepard felt as if all the air had been vented from the room, and briefly she felt her knees go weak, threatening to give way. She closed her eyes so hard bright spots of light appeared behind her lids, struggling to control her breathing.

"How are we _just_ finding out about this?" she managed choked out, grasping the edge of the comm console.

"The Hierarchy has been…reclusive since Taetrus. Not a lot of unencrypted comm going on and off the planet. We think Palaven was hit after Earth, hence why it wasn't on our radar. The turian councilor was able to send a message to me about an hour ago. Apparently, the Primarch is stranded on Menae, and with the fleet stretched thin, they asked if the _Normandy_ could be spared for a reconnaissance mission."

"Yes." Her answer was sharp, mind reeling with a thousand and one different scenarios.

"Fedorian wants to hold a war summit regarding the building of the Crucible. If anyone can get in and get this done, it's you, Shepard. We need the turian fleet."

"How bad is it?" she whispered, closing her eyes against his answer.

"I don't know."

She took a deep, shuddering breath in through her nose and released it out her mouth in a steady stream, fighting back the panic clawing its way out of her stomach and into her chest. _Hierarchy called. Palaven-bound;. no contact established. Will contact with more info_. Kasumi's message swam in her head. The thief had never made contact with more info.

"Consider it done," she said with a salute.

"Be careful out there, Shepard. Hackett out."

As his form disappeared from the holo, Shepard threw out her arms as she stumbled back against the comm room wall, sliding down to the floor with her knees drawn to her chest. A dry sob wracked its way out of her body as she pressed her face into the heels of her hands.

She had seen the destruction on Earth. In mere minutes, Vancouver was smoldering ruin under the weight of the reapers. The sharp smell of burnt flesh and metal filled the air as her and Anderson fought their way to the rendezvous point. And that boy…that little boy. He had refused her offer for help, instead he cowered in the shadows, shrinking back from her outstretched hand. She had watched as he had climbed up into the shuttle, his short legs struggling for purchase. The red laser had come from the black gullet of a reaper. It had sliced apart both shuttles as they struggled to take off into the safety of FTL. Shepard had watched the flaming wreckage smash into the ruins of an apartment building below as the Normandy banked for departure into atmo. She could still feel Ashley's hand on her shoulder as her and Vega pulled her inside her ship, N7 tags cold and hard in her grasp.

"Joker," she whispered, knowing EDI would pick up her whisper and amplify it on the bridge for him. "Set a course for Palaven."

" _Aye, Commander._ "

His reply was cautious. Shepard knew he had been listening to hers and Hackett's conversation.

She pushed herself against the wall and onto her feet. The front of her uniform was wrinkled where it had bunched against her torso, and she smoothed it down absent-mindedly, making her way out of the comm room to the elevator.

"ETA fourty-six minutes, Commander," Joker announced over the comm as she entered her quarters.

"Thank you, Joker," she said with a little more gumption in her voice. "EDI."

The AI's orb appeared instantly, casting a soft blue glow. "Yes, Commander?"

"Tell Liara and James to be suited up and ready in thirty minutes. I need Cortez to ready the shuttle, tell him we're going into reaper-occupied territory. I need the IES stealth systems fully checked, up and running. I'll be up to the bridge in ten for the relay jump."

"Aye aye, Commander."

Shepard turned her back to EDI's holographic orb and peeled off her uniform with slow, deliberate movements. Since Kasumi's message warning of Garrus' departure to Palaven, Shepard had started to come unraveled. Months of solitude and isolation became caustic, eating away at whatever sanity and hope she had managed to bring back with her from death. And now, naked in her quarters, the weight of his mortality pressed down on her shoulders with a force that almost brought her to her knees.

Shepard ferreted a clean undersuit from the depths of her closet, pulling the skin-tight fabric up over her legs, flexing her feet as she stood to zip the pants portion. The shirt came next, high-necked to prevent her neck guard and helmet from chafing, zipping up along her spine. The fabric was woven from Teflon-like fibers and reinforced with the same skin weave technology that now held the rest of her body together. Her hands slid along her arms, smoothing down the sleeves and hooking her thumbs through the small hole at the bottom of each.

Methodically, she reached for her boots and pulled them on. Next came her greaves, clipping onto small latches at the top of her boots. The snap of the catch brought her a small satisfaction; with each piece of armor she adorned, she felt as if she was building herself, pulling it all back together. Her chest piece was loose and she made note of it for her return to the Normandy after Menae. She had lost weight during her incarceration, a product of immense amounts of stress and very little appetite. Shoulder guards and gauntlets gleamed blueish black in the aquarium light. There were scorch marks on her N7 insignia, where white paint met red. Her gloves were the finishing touch, but instead of pulling them on, she padded lightly to her nightstand.

The pot of paint was small. Feeling the cool glass against her bare hands brought back fragments of memories that seemed so very long ago, hidden away in another life where she had been allowed to have hope. Her chest tightened as the scent of the cosmetic reached her nose. The pigment was stunningly black, dark and rich. She dipped the pad of her thumb in, coating it thoroughly. She began at her left temple, drawing a line across her closed eye, across the bridge of her nose, mirrored on the other side. Each stroke was cathartic; a show of solidarity, and ode to memories of a night where cultural lines had been merged as well as two hearts and bodies. The line across her eyes became thicker and more pronounced. She dipped her thumb in again, tracing from her bottom lip down to the hollow of her throat. The drying pigment pulled her skin slightly as she wiped the remains on a tissue next to her bed.

No mirror was needed for Shepard to admire her handwork. A finger hooked in the band holding her braid in and pulled it out, letting shoulder-length hair hang limply around her face. With sure fingers, she re-braided it, tighter this time, neater. Her gloves went on last, encasing tan hands in black fabric and metal knuckles.

Six months ago, Shepard would have balked at keeping her weapons in her quarters. But today, she was grateful for their proximity. Her Widow went first, clipping into the latch on her left shoulder blade. Assault rifle was next, taking its position next to her sniper on the opposite shoulder. A pistol on each hip and a mag clip of incendiary grenades completed her routine. In her mind, Garrus was next to her in blue armor; sniper, assault rifle, pistols. As an afterthought, she thumbed the control for her shield generator on her omni-tool, changing the lights encased in the pack on her back from red to vibrant, vivid blue.

The CIC was hushed as she exited the elevator and made her way up to the bridge. Whether her crew was aware of the seriousness of the mission, or utterly confused by their Commander's appearance, she ignored it. The only sound she could hear was her boots echoing on metal floor, and her heart pounding a steady rhythm in her chest.

"About to make the jump, Commander," Joker said as she reached his chair. She could see the relay looming ahead of them.

"Take her in nice and quiet, Joker," she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I don't have the patience to play cat and mouse with a reaper."

"Aye aye, Commander," he replied, fingers flying over the console. Shepard leaned over to the copilot seat and thumbed the comm button.

"Attention all crew, this is your Commander speaking." She could hear the reverb of her voice out in the CIC, message broadcasting ship-wide. "In approximately 60 seconds we will be making a mass relay jump into reaper-occupied space. That means we will be running silent until myself or Helmsman Moreau says otherwise. Critical personnel report to your stations immediately. All others hunker down on the crew deck. In the event that we are to enter active combat, I need all hands on deck at appropriate stations."

"Ten seconds to relay jump, Commander," Joker said. "Widow relay is in range. Initiating transmission sequence…We are connected. Calculating transit mass and destination…The relay is hot…Acquiring approach vector. All stations secure for transit... Approach run has begun. Hitting the relay in 3 ... 2 ... 1 ..."

Subtly, Shepard could feel the mass relay warp the ship in a cocoon of electric eezo, crackling blue and white as it shot them through to the Trebia relay in a matter of seconds.

"Thrusters ... check. Navigation ... check. Internal emissions sink engaged. All systems online. Drift ... just under 1500 K. Damn I'm good," Joker quipped, an echo of the SR1, turning to smile at Shepard from under the brim of his hat. He caught sight of her face and his grin slipped. "Commander…" he said quietly, grabbing her hand that had been resting on his shoulder. "He's hard to kill." Shepard gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand in thanks. Joker turned back to the console with a sigh and flew them silently towards Palaven.


	3. III

"Victus! On your six!"

Garrus had to shout to be heard above the sound of husks and gunfire. Their comm tower had gone down hours before, as a flood of reaper shock troops flooded the barricades of Alpha outpost. Past the gates, a reaper stood miles away, silhouetted against the burning orb that was Palaven. His heart constricted at the sight of his home planet smoldering below them. He sent up a silent prayer, hoping his father had evacuated the family.

A sudden shriek brought him back to the present, and he turned to slam the butt of his rifle into the head of an oncoming husk. Garrus had his five specialists pulling double duty out on the front lines, along with a larger platoon of fifty soldiers. He and Victus had been tag-teaming command; their downed comms left radio chatter jammed, so whichever superior was closest to the point of formation was calling the shots.

At the moment, Victus was charging ahead, cutting a path through countless numbers of husks towards the crippled comm tower. He had a group of ten soldiers with him, each outfitted with the special incendiary ammo Garrus and his team had developed. The acrid smell of burning flesh and metal hung heavy in Menae's thin atmosphere.

Garrus vaulted up a rocky outcrop, finding a vantage point, and began picking off husks as they flowed around Victus. He had worked at developing specialty sniper ammunition for his Widow, creating something that resembled an incendiary round but expanded outward upon impact, allowing the flammable core an immediate and large amount of oxygen. The result was a spectacular shower of flaming gore as his shot ripped through the head of a husk about to latch onto Victus' back.

"Scratch one!" he shouted to no one in particular. Several more shots dispatched the last of the flood, and he vaulted down from his vantage point to catch up with the platoon.

"Damnit!" Victus shouted, running his fingers over the control panel on the comm tower. "As much fun as it is tip-toeing through fields of husks, I'm sick of fixing these damned towers. A necessary evil, in my opinion."

Garrus grunted his agreement, assessing their surroundings. The tower was on the far side of Alpha base, closest to where the flood of shock troops had breached their barricades. "We need more turrets on this end of the outpost. No wonder they were able to get through; we've only got five men up on the platforms."

Victus gave a quick bark as the comm tower came back online, and lifted his hands up in a "you don't say" gesture. "I've sent multiple requests planetside for more ammunition, rations, guns, soldiers, turrets and Fornax mags. You think I've gotten anything I asked for?"

Garrus snorted, resting the barrel of his rifle on an armored shoulder as they made their way back to the sleeping area. "You think Command would have concern for moral and all that."

Victus kicked a husk corpse out of his way, eyes studying the carnage spread before them. The fighting had gone on for hours before they had been able to punch their way through to the tower. Now, in the quiet aftermath, Garrus' spine tingled with misplaced adrenaline. Victus' blood was up too, he could tell, as the two men climbed the steps towards the bunk shelter. For weeks they had been wasting ammunition on hoards of reaper creations. So far the surface of Menae only hosted a handful of actual reaper sentient ships, which seemed to be unloading endless amounts of harvesters and husks. Battle aggression and misplaced adrenaline had left many of the greener troops at each other's throats; the infirmary was already tasked to capacity with combat wounds, and was now seeing its fair share of sparring victims. That didn't stop anyone from taking their aggression out on each other. The sparring had turned from friendly to desperate in a matter of days, and Garrus said a silent mantra of thanks to the war spirits for sending him a platoon of all-male troops. It made keeping order much easier.

He heaved a sigh and sat on a lower bunk, pulling off his gloves to assess the state of his Widow. Vitcus collapsed on a bunk across from him. Manae's silica and rock terrain was proving to be a constant annoyance. The fine grains of dirt would work themselves into the smallest of crevices on armor and weapons alike. Vitus let out a quiet whistle as Garrus pulled the gun apart and began running a cleaning cloth lovingly along the barrel.

"That's quite the weapon, Vakarian. You get that during your stint in the Terminus?"

"It was a gift," he replied simply, separating the barrel from the rest of the rifle.

"That's a _hell_ of a gift."

Garrus grunted in reply. He trusted Adrien. The general had been a steadfast and reliable asset to the Menae teams, with a shrewd sense of tactics that always managed to get them out of stickier situations. He was not overly nosy, but had spent small parts of their downtime prodding at Garrus, trying to get the turian to open up. If Victus had his suspicions, he hadn't voiced them, but Garrus was sure the general had seen the mark on his neck more than once. Turians had keen eyesight by nature, and an ingrained sense of determining how someone belonged, and to whom.

"I have a son. He's serving with the Ninth Platoon. I had a wife, too."

"Had?" Garrus asked, not looking up from his ministrations.

Victus let out a small sound of disgust. "She left me about five years back."

Garrus' head snapped up. Turian bond-breaking was nearly unheard of; they mated for life. Chemical and emotional ties had evolved to survive the stresses of a predatory planet, and a turian with multiple bond markings was often seen as an outcast. Adultery was punishable by death, a slightly archaic law that still stood. The accused could be held accountable by a court, or if the scorned mate so chose, a trial by combat.

"Packed up her things and took a charter to Taetrus," Victus continued, eyes settling on something unseen. "Citing her views on the Heirarchy, and how she couldn't continue to be with someone who ' _had his mandibles so far up the Primarch's ass_ '. Last I heard, she was killed in a raid on Vallum, after Facinus slammed the ship into the city."

"I'm sorry," Garrus supplied lamely, tilting his head in sympathy.

"I'm not," Victus replied, running a finger across his forehead. It was a rude gesture, something akin to the human middle finger. "I made a mistake with Vina. She was weak, with a dull spirit. At the time of our bonding, I was blinded by a pretty face and a good lay. We had our son, and it all was downhill from there. Things became especially strained when I was promoted." He sighed, leveling a look at Garrus. "I am, first and foremost, a soldier. Now...I think it would take someone with a particularly strong spirit to make me reconsider bachelorhood."

Garrus simply nodded in agreement, tipping oil into the trigger mechanism. Victus snorted.

"You can be honest with me, Vakarian. I've seen the mark."

He froze over his gun, stomach migrating to his throat. _Ah shit_. Placing the disassembled rifle beside him on the bunk, he folded his hands in his lap and forced his eyes to meet Victus'. "It's not public knowledge."

"I gathered as much. Afraid of the political backlash? I can see the headlines now. ' _Acanthus Vakarian's only son bonded to a human Spectre!_ ' And your father's…inevitable mental breakdown."

"Something like that," Garrus muttered. "Mainly she didn't want the Alliance or the Hegemony to use me as leverage against her."

Victus nodded, his eyes searching Garrus' face. "I've worked with a few humans myself, but none so…vibrant as your commander. She has a warrior's spirit. A male would be _lucky_ to lay claim to someone that...strong."

Garrus processed this information. Adrien Victus, Hierarchy general, was approving.

"She wears paint," Victus continued, flipping his hands to lay palms up on his knees. It was a gesture of politeness, an apology for prying into Garrus' private life.

"The marks of her people. A people that are almost extinct, from what she's told me."

Victus absorbed this bit of information with a slight nod of his head. "Will you be putting your marks on her face?"

"I…it would be a lie to tell you haven't considered it. But it's her decision, if we choose to make our bond official. Humans don't make a habit of wearing clan markings." Visions of him and Shepard in the Normandy's cargo bay flooded his mind. His neck bleeding from her bite wound, a thumb tracing his markings across her face in his blood. His spine tightened.

"I don't understand it, but as I said, it would be difficult to not be captivated by her. Humans have ascended quickly in the thirty years they've been a part of council space. It's a shame they have her incarcerated. She is a force to be reckoned with, a natural leader. Something her people are in desperate need of. But, it is a prime example of how foolish humans can be."

"Tell me something I don't know," Garrus quipped, clicking his rifle back together and compressing it to rest next to his bunk.

"I hope to meet this commander of yours." Victus swung his legs up onto the bunk, leaning back to recline against the mattress. "Perhaps you'll favor me enough to invite me to your bonding ceremony."

Garrus copied the general, reclining back against the mattress to stare up at the underside of the bunk above him.

"After the war is over, be sure to check your terminal for a personal invitation."

They both laughed before falling into a companionable silence, lost in their own myriad of thoughts and memories. Garrus felt his eyes grow heavy. The exertions of the day were finally catching up with him, and his body succumbed to a heavy and fitful sleep.

* * *

 

Victus shook him awake hours later, a ghostly figure in the dark, white markings almost glowing. There was a concerned, almost sickly look on his face, and Garrus was suddenly wide-awake. "Vakarian, there's been some news. You better come with me."

He felt himself go numb, and struggled to his feet, cradling the Widow to his chest. Victus lead him to the command station, where the large galaxy map projected pixelated systems. General Corinthus was bent over the holo, brows knitted. At the sight of them, he stood and saluted.

"Advisor Vakarian, General Victus. Thank you for coming so quickly." The older general adjusted the holo in front of them, zooming in to a system. Garrus felt his mouth go dry as recognition hit. "Command passed along intel about ten minutes ago that the Sol System has gone dark. Luna Base has been decimated, and the reaper forces have descended to Earth. The spear point of their attack was Alliance Headquarters in Vancouver."

Garrus saw the scene in front of him skew wildly as he fought to keep his composure. Shepard was being held at Alliance HQ. Vancouver. Reapers. Shepard. Ahyoka.

Victus made no movement towards Garrus, but the look of concern on his face betrayed the calm of his voice. "And what of Alliance leadership? Admirals Hackett and Anderson?"

Unspoken was the real question Garrus wanted to ask. Anderson now commands the Normandy. Shepard would be his XO. What of Shepard? What of the _Normandy_ crew?

Corinthus shook his head grimly. "Our intel is days old, and we aren't getting anything in or out of Sol. I can only hope humanity had a contingency plan."

Garrus snapped his teeth together in anger. "They had their contingency plan incarcerated on false genocide charges." If the Alliance hadn't shoved their heads so far up their asses, Shepard wouldn't be dead. He took a deep, calming breath, fighting back the panic. _Don't think like that, Vakarian. Death couldn't hold her the first time. She'll find a way out._

Corinthus settled an apprehensive look on the younger turian. "I assure you, Advisor, if I receive any new intel, I will pass it along. However, my focus is holding this moon. Fedorian has evacuated Palaven, and should be arriving within the next few hours on the Dauntless."

"He's evacuating?" Victus spat incredulously. "Spirits, why would he do that?"

Corinthus suddenly looked much, much older, and hung his head. "Cipritine is nothing but ashes, Victus. It's hard to strategize war tactics from a smoldering ruin."

* * *

 

Adrien and Garrus stood side by side, fretting over the holo table. A reaper had landed five miles from their position, husks pouring out of it in a tidal wave of terror. The push was threatening the nearest comm tower -again- and with communications as limited as they had been, they couldn't afford for it to go down.

It had been three days since Corinthus had broke the news of Cipritine's fall. Garrus had seen Fedorian once in those 36 hours, the Primarch giving him a nod and a companionable slap on the back with each encounter. There had been no news of his father, other than Fedorian had ordered Acanthus to evacuate the family anywhere other than Palaven the same day Garrus departed for Menae. It was a slight weight off of his chest, but he wouldn't rest easy until he was sure they were safe.

"We could flank them," Garrus said, tracing a line around the nearest contingent of reaper troops. "That's a pretty tall outcrop. I've got about ten decent snipers in this platoon plus myself. Throw a couple gas grenades into the fray and distract them while we use thermal scopes to take them out."

Victus made a non-commital noise in the back of his throat, tapping a finger against his mouth. "That would work. What we could try to do is flank them, and herd them here." He pointed to a natural valley between two sizable outcroppings. It was closed on three sides, and narrow at the choke point. "Does anyone here have a Cain?"

"Paulus does. He's damn good with it too."

"How do we get our men up that rock face? It's a good twenty feet tall."

"How many biotics do we have stationed here?"

Victus tilted his head in confusion. "We've got two…"

"Send in the two fastest men to herd them through the chokepoint, then have the biotics lift them out of the trap. It's only twenty feet, so even a mediocre adept should be able to do it. Hell, I was lifted across a 200-foot gap between warehouses on Omega. Granted, the biotic doing the lifting was an amped human convict with an authority complex, but I made it across."

"Now that's a story I need to hear," Victus chortled, turning to the lieutenant at his left. "Tell Cantus and Mennix to gear up. I need two recons as well; the fastest you know of. Have them meet us at the south gate in ten minutes."

The lieutenant saluted and sprinted off into the camp.

"This is a side of crazy I have yet to see out of you, Vakarian," Victus mused as they suited up.

"Oh, I learned from the best," he answered, checking his grenade count. "Get a glass of brandy in front of me and I'll tell you more."

The older turian snorted and lead the way to the south gate, cutting an imposing figure in black armor. Garrus was still slightly taken aback by the amount of people who saluted him, including generals. Advisor was an honorary title, but held a significant amount of weight in the Hierarchy. He was, technically, the same rank as his father, who had twenty years of experience on him. The galaxy works in mysterious ways, he mused.

There was a contingent of foot soldiers waiting for them at the gate, including two turian biotics. Extremely rare and usually ostracized, they often ended up serving in the military until reaching retirement. Cantus and Mennix had been on the front lines back on Palaven, but had broken off when their cabal was decimated on Cipritine. Reassigned to Menae, they preferred working as an elite team, going where they were needed most.

"Kabalim Cantus, Kabalim Mennix, nice to meet you," Victus said. "Have you been briefed?"

Cantus, all dark plates and green clan markings, nodded. "We can, if you find it necessary, lift more than two soldiers." He looked to his partner, and Mennix nodded in agreement, light plates and grey markings almost glowing.

"The less we have to worry about pulling out of the pit, the better," Garrus said, stepping up next to Victus. "Estimates put us at approximately two hundred husks that we need to take out. I have a specialist with a modified Cain, as well as several incendiary grenades."

Mennix's eyes widened slightly at the appearance of Garrus, and he hastily saltued. "Advisor Vakarian, sir! It's an honor to be fighting alongside you." The biotic dropped to one knee, holding out his rifle while staring at Garrus' booted feet. Adrien chuckled under his breath, making Garrus flare his mandibles. "Stand up, kabalim. You don't need to swear an oath to little ol' me. We've got more important things to worry about."

Mennix stood and saluted again.

"Twenty-seven years in the military, five years as a general, and nobody has even attempted to swear an oath to me," Victus said to Garrus quietly. His subvocals were laced with amusement.

"It's because you aren't as good looking as me."

They made their way to the outcrop, Victus breaking off and taking a contingent of soldiers, Garrus and his small troop of snipers setting up to provide covering fire. In the distance he could see the reaper, slowly progressing cross the landscape. The creature was almost unbelievably enormous. Several small fighters buzzed past it, peppering its metal hide with bullets. They looked like flies compared to the sapient monstrosity.

The gunfight was brief. Victus pulled his soldiers back behind another distant ridge, to provide a fallback if the targets decided to turn and go the opposite direction. Watching through his scope, he saw the two recon scouts break off from the larger platoon and sprint through the hoard of husks, too fast for the creatures to catch. Almost all began lumbering after the soldiers, a roiling mass of dark cybernetic flesh that coagulated together at the chokepoint.

"Fire at will boys!" Garrus shouted, loud enough to be heard down the line. His platoon answered with loud cracks of their rifles. The bait scouts hugged either side of the gulley wall to allow the snipers a clear shot. Paulus knelt in the middle next to Mennix and Cantus, balancing the Cain across his knee. Husks fell as bullets from both sides began ripping through them, only to be trampled by their kin as they fought to climb through the narrow fissure of rock. "Kabalims! Be at the ready."

The two biotics would need to snatch the scouts out of the trap at the last minute, simultaneous with Paulus spooling up the Cain. Garrus began lobbing incendiary grenade into the crush of husks, reveling in the sight of cybernetic flesh smoldering. They had almost driven all the creatures into their trap, and he gave Paulus the signal to warm up his weapon.

Raising his arm up, he used his omnitool to flash a predetermined signal down to Victus. _Who needs radios when you have smoke signals?_ The general's contingent began to break away, splitting down the middle and taking cover behind whatever they could find.

"Ten seconds to detonation, sir!" Paulus called, panting. Garrus could hear the telltale whine of the Cain as it powered up.

The husks were advancing on the recon scouts now. He had been counting in his head, and reached five. "Kabalims! Now!"

The two biotics unleashed a flurry of blue energy, enveloping the pair of soldiers in the gully below. Suspended almost effortlessly in their own mass fields, they shot twenty feet upwards as Mennix and Cantus began sprinting backwards towards cover. The scouts landed hard at the top, rolling a few times before getting their feet back under them.

"Everybody fall back!" Garrus yelled as the Cain countdown reached zero. The weapon detonated with a blinding flash, and he turned his face away from it, feeling hot wind in its wake. Down the line, Paulus whooped.

Blinking away the spots in his vision, Garrus turned to assess the damage. The husks had been decimated, only a few stragglers crawling over the fallen corpses of their kin. He gave Paulus a congratulatory slap on the back.

"Impressive work, Lieutenant. The slow charge time is well-worth the results."

He turned to the two biotics, only to be interrupted by Corinthus' voice in his earpiece. Comm tower must be back up, he thought before responding. "Vakarian here. Go ahead, General."

"I need you and Victus back here on the double. There's been a development."

"Understood." Garrus hailed Victus and his platoon, the needling feeling of dread building in his gut.

Alpha base hummed with barely-contained energy as the two males made their way back. Corinthus was hunched over the holo table, speaking quietly to an officer. At their appearance, he turned and saluted, mandibles pulled tight to his face.

"Vakarian. Victus. I'm afraid I have bad news. We got word fifteen minutes ago that a shuttle carrying Primarch Fedorian was shot down by reaper forces." He shook his head mournfully, and Garrus felt his gut clench. "There were no survivors."

Fedorian had promoted Garrus to advisor with the belief that he could be the change his people needed in the war. The Primarch had believed his story even before he had a chance to explain it in detail. And now, he was dead at the hands of the very creatures he tasked Garrus with researching.

"Who is next in the line of succession?" Victus asked quietly. Fedorian had been a close family friend of the general. Instinctually, Garrus moved to provide him with a comforting arm clasp, but military stoicism dictated they leave the grieving for off duty.

"At the moment? Xarcavian. However, last I heard he was still holding the line back on the outskirts of Cipritine. There's no guarantee he's still alive. From there things get a little scattered. It's been many, many years since the lines of succession have blurred because of so many deaths." Corinthus heaved a heavy sigh. "Even if there was a clear answer, we wouldn't have it. Our main comm tower went down about ten minutes ago, and I don't have the forces to spare to get it back up and running."

"I'll take my men," Victus said. "We just took out a contingent of husks back over on by the south side comm tower. Their blood is up and they're looking for another fight."

Corinthus shook his head. "I need you over at Beta outpost. Their commanding officer was killed trying to clear a path for Fedorian's shuttle. Take some of your men over there. They lost almost an entire platoon."

Victus gave the other general a quick salute before departing.

"What can I do, sir?" Garrus inquired. His stomach ached at the thought of Fedorian. Another good man is dead because of these fuckers.

"Right now? I need you and your team to go over the data I'm getting in from the other outposts. We know about husks, but we're getting other reports of…different constructs. Large, four-eyed beasts with weapons sprouting from their arms. Turian-like constructs with armor, commanding platoons of husks."

Garrus shook his head. It was only a matter of time before the reapers began using other species as the template for their ground troops. Killing husks was one thing; Shepard had compared them to the Terran myth of "zombies", mindless, undead humans with a taste for flesh. They were almost laughably easy to take down. Husks relied entirely upon huge numbers to swarm and take down any targets. An armored, armed reaperized turian was going to be a different enemy entirely. "Send me what you have. I'll get my team on it."

Corinthus nodded, then saluted. "For all we know, you could be the next primarch. Since your promotion, you're higher in the line of succession than even I am."

"Let's hope not," Garrus replied grimly. "I belong out here on the front lines. And besides," he tipped his head in amusement, letting his mandibles flare in a wide grin. "I'm terrible at politics."

Corinthus barked a gruff laugh and began transferring files to Garrus' omnitool. "You're the closest thing we have to an expert on these things, Vakarian. Do what you can."

Garrus nodded, snapping his teeth together.

_I could really use you now, Shepard. Spirits forbid I end up Primarch; I'm going to need you to handle the politics._

* * *

 

The shuttle ride to Menae was quiet as death, punctuated only by the occasional thump of atmosphere hitting the exterior. Shepard sat tense next to Liara, fighting the urge to bounce her restless feet. Vega stood clutching a support strap, hulking in his heavy armor.

"T-minus five minutes to the LZ, Commander," came Cortez' voice from the cockpit. "It's going to be a little hot."

To punctuate his point, the pilot pulled up the exterior feed on a vid screen. Below them, the turian homeworld glimmered and smoldered with bright points of orange light. What little resolve Shepard had vanished, disappearing underneath the crushing weight of grief and terror. Garrus is down there, somewhere. And I can't save him.

She had retreated to the shuttle bay after entering turian space, meticulously checking her weapons and tactical cloak. Deep down she knew a part of her was unable to be on the bridge during their approach to Palaven for fear of her reaction. It was one thing to fall apart in front of your helmsman, someone who had known you for four years, and knew your lover was located somewhere on a smoldering planet. It was another thing to lose it in front of a young marine who was looking to her for leadership and strength.

The image of Palaven burning punched her in the gut like an iron fist. The burly lieutenant was openly staring at his commander. She knew the look she was wearing was one of numbness, a mask void of any emotion. Liara's gasp of despair tore Vega's inquiring gaze away from Shepard's face.

"Oh no. No. _Palaven_ …" The asari reached for Shepard's hand, and the commander let her take it, feeling utterly numb. Vega gave the two a questioning look, eyebrows raised.

"We have an old friend down there," Liara supplied, her large, violet eyes searching Shepard's. The commander's gaze never left the vid screen.

"Holy hell," Vega exclaimed, watching the screen as a reaper tore a turian frigate in half. "The biggest military in the galaxy, and they're getting obliterated."

Shepard felt a sudden chill of dread seep into her system. These creatures were destroying every sentient life in the galaxy, as if they had the right to. They had landed on her mate's homeworld, obliterating any hope she had of reuniting with him. She hadn't felt despair so strong since watching Garrus bleed out on the floor of his Omega apartment. Now, it was threatening to overtake her. She suppressed a shiver, and stood, pulling her SMG from its place on her back.

"LZ is up ahead, Commander," Cortez alerted, banking the shuttle hard starboard as they descended into Menae's thin atmosphere.

"James, open the hatch." Her voice sounded wrong, as if her vocal chords had died. Liara shot her a look of worry, which Shepard ignored.

Vega complied, the hatch rising to reveal the rocky terrain of Menae below, swarming with husks. Shepard flipped her gun to incendiary. "Alright. Get in, get out. Let's go grab us a Primarch."

Cortez set the shuttle down and the trio leapt out, guns blazing. Shepard had never seen so many husks in one place before; the reapers must have opened the floodgates. A groaning creature ran towards her, only to fall in a heap of flames from Vega's well-placed shot. She gave him a curt nod, motioning for them to move forward.

The sounds of an active warzone bled into Shepard's subconscious, and felt what she knew was bloodlust beginning to build in her chest. She sprinted forward, disappearing under the cover of her tactical cloak. A trio of husks ran blindly towards Vega's six, and she leapt, using every bit of cybernetic strength she had. Her omniblade flashed out in a hard horizontal arc, and she drew it across the three necks of her lieutenant's attackers. The severed heads hit the ground, bouncing with a sickly thump, and Vega spun, surprisingly agile for such a large individual. Shepard uncloaked with a blue-white fizzle. She snapped the now-useless blade off on the side of a rock outcrop. It fell to the ground, momentarily glowing a soft orange until its compounds disintegrated.

"Holy shit!" Vega yelled, lowering the assault rifle he had pointed at the Commander. "You're like a fucking ghost!"

She gave him a grim smile before pushing ahead. The team was dispatching husks with occasional bouts of gunfire or Liara's biotics. Shepard itched for a high vantage point, to take out her hatred and disgust with the help of her Widow. Now was not the time. They had a primarch to find.

Navigating the surface of the moon proved to be difficult; their radios were unreliable, being jammed by whatever EM pulses the reapers were sending out. They had to rely on eyesight and hand signals as they pushed forward, dispatching shock troops as they went along. Rocky outcrops made their path twice as long as it would have been. Shepard set a hurried pace, feeling the steady movement of her feet lulling her into a sort of meditative state. They rounded a corner and saw the first signs of civilization. The compound itself was heavily guarded along the outer perimeter. Turian soldiers stood vigil next to turrets, assault rifles in hand. She turned her face towards the gatekeeper, making sure he could see they were friendlies.

"Hold your fire!" he shouted down the line, lowering the gate. "Commander Shepard, General Corinthus is waiting for you. South side of the camp."

Shepard nodded, holstering her SMG and jogging through the gate. Turian soldiers swarmed everywhere, checking weapons or supplies. Ration crates were stacked haphazardly wherever there was room, along with boxes of ammunition and weapons. With a sharp gasp, she realized the rows and rows of orange emergency blankets were being used to cover bodies. Is Garrus under one of those?

"No, Shepard," Liara said softly, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Do not even let your mind go there."

Shepard shook her head and motioned for her team to follow her forward. She felt her mouth set in a grim line, and ignored the curious stares of quiet whispers of "spirits, that's Commander Shepard!" Since the media coverage of her trial and "victory" over the Batarian Hegemony, Vega had explained to her that she was a familiar face. "Especially with the war paint, Lola," he had quipped, crossing big arms over his chest. "Not that I'm sayin' it's a bad thing, but you're even more recognizable now than you were after the Blitz."

They had removed her paint during the trial and her incarceration, but she had been wearing it proudly, as she was escorted form the Normandy and into Alliance custody. Garrus explained it made her easily recognizable by turian standards, a culture based on place marks of belonging to distinguish who belonged to whom and to where. He had even mentioned it made her more relatable to certain turians, who saw it as a blending of cultures, a sort of societal bridge between humanity and his people. She had filed the information away to mull on at a later time, but found it shining in the forefront of her mind as she walked through the outpost. Several soldiers were even saluting her.

"Shit, Lola," Vega said quietly, hastening his pace to catch up with her. "I've never seen a turian salute a human soldier."

Shepard ignored him, eyes searching for Corinthus. She located him in a metal shelter ahead, surrounded by several lieutenants in black and red armor. The general was standing over a large holo of Menae's surface, the pixelated image covered in glowing points of light.

"Command Shepard," he drawled, turning to give her a quick nod. His voice lacked the distinct soothing quality Garrus' had. _Has, Shepard. Don't stick him in the grave yet._ "Heard you were coming, but I didn't believe it. General Corinthus."

She threw her braid over her shoulder and returned his nod, gazing at the moving points of light in front of them. "I'm here to get Primarch Fedorian."

Corinthus froze, gloved talons digging into the side of the table. "Primarch Fedorian is dead. His shuttle was shot down an hour ago."

Behind her, Liara let out a soft gasp, and Vega made a disgruntled noise in his throat. Shepard felt a tendril of real fear flutter in her gut. Garrus' father had been serving as Advisor to the Primarch. Was he on that shuttle? Was Garrus?

"That's going to complicate things a bit," she replied, taking a deep, calming breath. "I'm sorry for your loss. I heard he was a good man."

Corinthus tilted his head the slightest bit towards her, which she knew was a sign of acknowledgement. "And a friend. He would have made an outstanding diplomat."

"What do we do now?"

Liara, who had been hovering behind Shepard like a nervous chaperone, broke the din with her breathy voice. "The Hierarchy provides very clear lines of succession."

Shepard turned to Corinthus, who nodded. "With such heavy casualties, it's difficult for me to be certain who the next Primarch is. Palaven Command will know. However, at the moment, contacting them is impossible. The comm tower is out. Husks are swarming that area; we can't get close enough to repair it."

Sounds like an impossible job to throw Commander Shepard at, she mused darkly. "Don't worry, General. We'll get your comm tower up and running."

"Thank you, Commander. I'll handle things on this end."

Shepard motioned for her team to move out. Pain, despair and hopelessness filled her chest as they made their way out of the compound. Liara followed behind her like a shadow, Vega bringing up the rear.

 _Where are you, Garrus?_ she thought mournfully, staring up at the smoldering shadow of Palaven.

* * *

 

Garrus' neck ached from leaning over his omnitool for too long. Corinthus' data had set his team in motion, observing vids taken off the helmets of soldiers, taking notes and studying samples. The turian constructs, which is team had christened "marauders", appeared to be their biggest threat. Armored and armed to the teeth, they were incredibly quick and capable of commanding hoards of husks, which they also armored. The team was trying to develop a contingency plan, something to provide platoons with to give them the upper hand. Garrus studied the holo of one, and was reminded of Saren. More cybernetics than organic, with the same empty, haunted look. He ran a weary hand over his face. The batarian constructs had been slightly less problematic. DNA samples indicated the creatures were actually batarian and human, fused together by reaper tech. The team had been calling them "cannibals"; Garrus himself had witnessed one of the beasts feasting on the flesh of its fallen comrade. The cannibalism seemed to have an obscure healing effect. They could, however, be quickly dispatched with several incendiary rounds to the head.

Radio chatter was still down, and his team had sequestered themselves to the north end of the base, taking an entire shelter for themselves. Next to him, Vatius was muttering a string of curse words under his breath. "It just doesn't make sense!" he spat, thumping his fist on the table. "How are they armoring an entire platoon of husks without actual armor?"

"My only guess is that it's some form of biotics," Lentulus suggested. "We've seen it in the Praetorian's; the reapers have the ability to infuse any of their constructs with particle beam accelerators. I'm not doubting they're capable of creating a perverse version of kinetic shields."

"Does the shielding die with the marauder? Or the husk?"

"The vids I've seen suggest its fully dependent on the marauder," Garrus said. "We should be targeting that first, which makes sense. Always target the strongest enemy before the weaker one."

Vatius nodded sagely. "Well, it's better than nothing. As soon as the comm tower is back up, we can send out an info blast."

"Several platoons have reported success using the 'herding' technique, sir," Asello said, rising from his seat on a supply crate to join the other huddled turians. "There's been an increase in demand for power cells to fuel the Cains, but Paulus has been working at a way to decrease the spooling time and the power draw. Give him a few more hours and he'll probably have it."

They all gazed across the shelter at Paulus, who was hunkered over a tool bench, humming quietly to himself. The turian had been pivotal in the development of advanced incendiary ammunition back on Palaven. Within two weeks of being recruited by Garrus, he had a solid schematic for a modified Cain as well, the one he had brought with him to Menae. He didn't talk much, but his constant buzz of energy reminded Garrus of Mordin Solus.

"The mad scientist," Lentulus quipped, shaking his head.

"Kid could make a rifle out of paperclips and rubber bands," Garrus said with a tight smile.

"Advisor Vakarian sir!" Garrus whipped his head around to see a young lieutenant sprint towards him, breathless. He skidded to a halt below the shelter, doubling over to catch his breath.

"Easy, Lieutenant. Where's the fire?" he said, holding his hands up in a "slow down" gesture.

"Sir...an Alliance frigatejust entered the system."

"What?" He stood abruptly, armored spurs catching the edge of his chair and knocking it over.

"The Alliance HQ was destroyed..." he took a deep breath, fighting to control his labored breathing. "There are survivors. Earth is under attack..Admiral Hackett sent the ship to rendezvous and procure the Primarch."

"Fedorian is dead. We haven't had any report from Palaven on who's next in succession."

"It's Victus, sir. General Victus."

Garrus shook his head slowly. _Damnit, Adrien. You're not going to like this_. With the ghost of a smile on his face, he gestured to the shelter. "Victus isn't here. I haven't seen him for hours."

The lieutenant nodded violently. "I know, sir. I'm here because the Alliance ship is the _Normandy_." He took another deep breath and straightened up. "Commander Shepard and her team were the ones to get our comm tower back up and running."

Garrus felt the world slow, the sounds of war dulling to muted background noise, his vision greying at the edges. She was here, on Menae, alive. He blinked several times, trying to clear his head. "Where are they."

"On their way back from Delta outpost, to debrief with Corinthus."

He turned to his team. They were silent and still, watching the exchange. Lentalus stepped forward and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Go," the young turian said. "We can handle it from here."

Garrus grasped his forearm in reply, before grabbing his Widow from the weapons bench and sprinting down the stairs.

Alpha outpost was large, easily encompassing sever hundred yards of Manae's surface. His long strides at up the ground as he jogged towards command. Several people turned to yell as he shoved past them, only to recognize who it was and snapped of salutes. He was in too much of a hurry to acknowledge them with anything more than a tight nod.

 _Spirits, you've kept her alive. Again_. He allowed himself a smile, feeling the almost unfamiliar tendrils of warmth spread through his chest.

* * *

 

"What have you got?" Shepard said to Corinthus, vaulting up the shelter steps two at a time. She and her team had returned back to base after successfully fixing the comm tower, heading straight for the general.

"As your partner said, succession is usually simple." Corinthus sounded world-weary as he leaned against the table. "But right now, the Hierarchy is in chaos. So many dead or MIA..."

She had been running on empty since Hackett broke the news of the attack on Palaven. From Alliance HQ straight to Mars, watching Ash almost die at the hands of a Cerberus AI, to Menae, surrounded by the injured and dead people of her mate. Earth was burning, and with each passing second she felt the iron grip of despair clench tighter around her chest. She bit her lip to keep herself from screaming.

"I need someone. I don't care who it is as long as they can get us the turian resources we need!" She took a deep, shuddering breath, and watched as Corinthus tapped frantically at the holo table.

"Palaven command tells me that the next Primarch is General Adrien Victus." He shook his head. "It seems as if I was one of the last to know, and I just sent Victus over to Beta outpost."

"Victus..." Liara said, stepping closer to Shepard. "His name has crossed my desk."

"Where is he?" Shepard asked, turning back to the general.

"Several hours ago I reassigned him to a different outpost to oversee operations there," Corinthus replied. "With the comms as unreliable as they are, I haven't been able to receive any updates."

Shepard ran a hand across the shaved side of her head. "So, you're telling me our new primarch is somewhere on this moon, fighting reaper forces?"

"I'm sorry, Shepard. That's all the information I have. You could try going directly to Beta outpost, but there's no guarantee that's where he is. They may be able to point you in the right direction."

She clenched and unclenched her hands, fighting back a wave of anger. A snarky retort was on the tip of her tongue, but was interrupted by Liara's startled gasp.

She felt him before she saw him. Months of separation, waiting, _worrying..._ the all-too-familiar magnetic pull, her body's natural response to his proximity, a moon caught in his gravity. She turned, the rest of the world fading out. Under the dim light of Menae, he strode towards her in black armor, his Widow against his chest.

Corinthus snapped into a salute. "Advisor Vakarian, sir."

Her breath caught in her chest as he climbed the stairs to stand a few feet from her. Blue eyes found grey, and he wore the same look of concern and utter relief as she did.

"At ease, General," he said, his gaze never leaving hers. She drank in the sight of him. There were new scars, along with several fresh wounds across his neck and face. The armor he wore was heavier and more imposing, his arms and belt bristling with grenades and flash bangs. The trademark visor was, of course, present over his left eye. He was here, and he was whole. She was rooted to the spot, afraid any movement she made would shatter the illusion of military stoicism.

"Garrus?" she said. It came out as a whisper. "You're alive." Remembering herself, she extended a hand in greeting. Through both sets of gloves, she felt her skin burn as their fingers connected, and he tugged her closer and laid his other hand on top of their intertwined ones.

"I'm hard to kill," he replied. "You should know that."

"I thought you'd be on Palaven."

He took a step back, disengaging their hands. "If we lose this moon, we lose Palaven. I'm the closest damn thing we have to an expert on reaper forces so...I'm...advising." He gave her a coy shrug. Behind them, Vega cleared his throat, snapping Shepard back to the present.

"James," she said, stepping aside to let the burly lieutenant shake Garrus' hand. "This is Garrus Vakarian. He helped us stop the Collectors. He's a hell of a solider."

"Lieutenant," Garrus acknowledged. "Good to see you too, Liara."

"Good to see you in one piece, Garrus," the asari replied, her smile wide.

"I've been briefed," he told the group. "And I think I know where to find Victus."

"Know him, Garrus?" Shepard asked, turning to stare at him. _Thank whatever spirits have kept you safe. I couldn't do this without you_.

"I was fighting alongside him this morning." He sunk his weight onto one hip, leaning towards her. "Lifelong military, gets results, popular with his troops." He cracked a wide grin. "Not so popular with military command. He has a reputation for playing loose with accepted strategy."

"On Taetrus, during the uprisings," Liara added, "his squad discovered a salarian spy ring about the same time as the turian separatists did. Rather than neutralize the ring, he fell back. He even gave up valuable fortifications which the rebels took."

"Then, the rebels attacked the salarians," Garrus continued. "And when both groups had worn each other down, Victus moved back in. Didn't lose a man."

"Bold strategy," Corinthus said bluntly. "But wild behavior doesn't get you advanced up the meritocracy."

Garrus gave Corinthus an apprehensive look, then turned back to Shepard. "Primarch Victus. _That_ should be something to see."

"Do you think he can get the job done?" she asked.

"You and I both know conventional strategy won't beat the reapers. Right now, he may be our best hope. And I trust him." He leveled her with a look, one that said, _I'll explain more later_.

"Ok. Let's get him on the shuttle and get him out of here."

" _Commander!_ " Joker's voice crackled through on her comm. " _Shepard! Come in!_ "

Shepard pressed the earpiece, her mouth in a tight line. "Joker, can this wait? We're in the middle of a war zone."

" _We've got a situation on the Normandy, Commander. It's...like she's possessed! Shutting down systems, powering up weapons...I can't find the source_."

She sighed inwardly and turned to Liara. "I need the Normandy standing by in case we need an evac."

"Should I go back and take a look?" the asari asked.

"Do it." She turned to her mate, feeling her breath catch at the sight of him. "Garrus, you were with Victus this morning?"

"Yeah, but we got separated. Corinthus sent him to Beta outpost, to replace their commander. Took a platoon with him. He could be anywhere."

"We're trying to raise him, Commander," Corinthus said from his place at the holo table.

A sudden metallic shriek shook the ground. A shadow passed over the outpost, and a harvester flew low over them, screaming.

"Incoming!" Vega yelled, spinning to unload a clip into the creature. It soared over them and out of sight. The sudden sound of screams and explosions filled the air.

"General," Shepard shouted, unclipping her SMG from its place on her back. "Tell Primarch Victus we'll rendezvous here." She turned to face Vega and Garrus. "Let's go take care of whatever that thing dropped off." Adrenaline pouring into her bloodstream at the thought of fighting next to her mate. "Coming, Garrus?"

"Are you kidding?" he quipped, extending his Widow and flipping the safety off. "I'm right behind you."

 _On my six,_ she thought as they moved out. _Right where you belong._

* * *

 

The trio moved forward and a hurried pace, passing through the gate and into the fray. The airfield was a torrent of violence and fire. Shepard sprinted up into cover, feeling Garrus settle next to her on her right. Always on my right.

"James, is that you breathing so hard?" she quipped, knocking her shoulder into Garrus'. The lieutenant was still green to her command tactics, and if his performance at the Mars Archives was anything to go by, his previous battlefield encounters still hung heavy on his conscience. Humor and a little razzing went a long way with nervous recruits.

"Atmosphere's a little thinner than I'm used to," he responded through her earpiece. "Adrenaline's better than oxygen any day."

"I can see why you like him," Garrus said over her private channel. His voice sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. "He thinks like a turian."

"He's a good man," she responded, taking a grenade from the magstrip on his arm and pulling the pin with her teeth. "Anderson assured me he's a hell of a soldier, too."

She heaved the explosive over the barrier, where it landed in a swarm of husks, sending pieced of cybernetics and flesh flying. A marauder advanced on their position.

"Is it just me, or do those reapers look like turians?" Vega grunted as he rolled back into cover.

"Target it," Garrus called out, backing up his statement with a shot of his rifle. "We need to take it out, otherwise those armored husks are going to cause issues."

Shepard was about to comply before he grabbed her gun, jamming a new heatsink into it. "Try this. Might work better."

His hands lingered on hers for the briefest of moments, his touch resonating in her groin. She leaned out of cover and fired, watching as the husk nearest her immediately went up in blue-green flames.

"Holy shit!" She exclaimed with joy.

"Just something my team developed."

"Don't leave me hanging!" Vega quipped, and Garrus tossed him a handful of heatsinks. The lieutenant cracked a wide grin, looking much like a kid in a candy store.

The team worked tirelessly to thin the flood of reaper forces. Shepard felt herself falling into her and Garrus' old routine seamlessly. It was as if six months had never passed, had never separated them. The moved effortlessly together. Hand signals, the slightest of body movements, they could read each other without the need for words. A marauder moved to flank them, and Shepard disappeared under the cover of her tactical cloak as Garrus turned his back on the creature. She slipped behind it, driving her omniblade through its chest as Garrus landed a spur kick to its abdomen. He shoved the dead thing off his back and turned to Shepard as she shimmered back into view, giving her a huge grin.

James let out a low whistle. "That was some impressive teamwork."

"Stick around long enough and I'll teach you a few tricks," Shepard replied, snapping her bloody omniblade off on her armored thigh.

" _Commander, we have a situation._ " Corinthus' voice grated across their comms. " _We've got a reaper inbound._ "

"On our way!" she responded, waving the team forward.

They sprinted back through the outpost, watching as a harvester flew overhead shrieking. The barrier was swarming with turian soldiers trying to hold off the flood of husks. Shepard scaled the nearest ladder and took control of a turret. James and Garrus stood next to her, adding their own gunfire to the battle.

Husk after husk poured out of flaming harvester pods. The turret was a behemoth of a gun, spinning heavily on its stand as she swept the space in front of them with bullets. Vega was laughing like he was having the time of his life.

"Like shooting fish in a barrel!" he shouted.

"What?" Garrus asked.

"It's an old human saying. Like shooting fish. In. A barrel."

Shepard didn't get to hear Garrus' reply. Out of a flaming harvester pod charged an enormous, reaperized creature she had never seen before.

"Holy _hell_! What _is_ that?" Vega yelled, staring at his commander. The thing growled and sprinted for the barricade, slamming its body into the metal, sending tremors down the wall. Shepard, perched precariously next to the turret, felt herself tip forward, the ground rushing up to meet her.

* * *

 

Not good, not good, Garrus thought as Shepard scrambled back up onto her feet. She sprinted for cover behind a boulder, scrambling up to perch at the very top.

"Garrus," she whispered on her comm, disappearing beneath her tactical cloak. "Get down here and distract it." The creature halted its charge at the rock, confused by the sudden disappearance of its target.

Garrus didn't need to ask twice. Yelling at Vega to stop shoot and follow, he vaulted down off the barrier and sprayed the brute with rounds from his assault rifle.

"Where the hell is Lola?" James shouted above the noise from his own gun.

"Don't worry about her," Garrus panted, dodging as the creature charged him. "Just keep it distracted."

His eyes studied the brute as he unloaded clip after clip at it. Heavily armored, it had the hulking shape of a krogan, with the head of a turian mounted to its bulky body. He knew Shepard was still at the top of the rock, waiting for them to drive it over to her. He motioned for James to flank right. It followed the lieutenant, who was sprinting as fast as his heavy armor would allow. Garrus unloaded a concussive shot at the creature's head. It swung around to face him.

"That's right, nice tasty turian over here. Come on. Charge me!"

The brute complied with a roar, and Garrus turn on his heel and sprinted to the rock, passing so close to it his armor screeched along the solid surface. He was more agile than the creature, and spun around to the other side, putting the boulder between it and him. He heard her cry and watched as the brute stumbled, flailing its too-short arms at its back. It slammed into the rock, causing it to crack, and Garrus backed away towards Vega.

"Don't shoot it," he panted, holding up a hand.

"Why-"

With a hideous shriek, the brute fell to its stomach, twitching. Shepard uncloaked, pulling her knife out of the creatures spine and stepping off its back.

"It's part krogan," she said, wiping black gore off her blade. "Barely any armor on its back. Severed what I think was the spinal cord. No chance of regen."

"Loco. Absolutely fucking loco," James said, shaking his head. Garrus was beaming at her, his chest swelling with pride. This strong, crazy warrior was his.

"Corinthus," she said, pressing her earpiece. "What's the status on the primarch?"

" _Still can't get a stable comm link_ ," he replied, and Shepard shook her head.

"Alright. We're going on foot." She turned to her team. "Garrus?"

"I'm sure I can figure out where he'd be. Let's move out."

He set a hurried pace, eyes searching the terrain in front of them for enemies. On the horizon hung a reaper, massive even several kilometers out, its black metal legs making the ground tremble with each step. The rounded a corner, and Palaven swung into full view.

"Damnit," he said quietly, slowing his pace. "You see that blaze of orange? The big one. That's where I was born. Where I grew up."

"That's rough," James replied. "You still have family there?"

"My dad. A sister." He didn't know the fate of his mother. She had been barely holding on when he was deployed to Menae.

"How bad is it?"

A chill seeped through him as he thought back to his scramble from Palaven's atmosphere. Landing on the moon and being briefed on the carnage unfolding below them. "Three million lost the first day. Five the second."

"How's your military holding up?" Shepard asked, jogging up on his left side. Her eyes were focused and bright beneath her war paint.

"Take a look around," he said grimly. "That should give you some idea."

"You're putting up a good fight," she said, quieter this time.

"For now. But how long does it take before the fight is kicked out of you?" He snapped his teeth together in agitation, the familiar build of anger crawling up his limbs. "If they'd only listed to your warnings about the reapers." She turned to catch his eye, and he saw a torrent of emotion in her gaze. "We might have been ready."

The pressed forward, passing the wreckage of a turian frigate, smoldering in the shadow of a reaper. Several injured soldiers pointed them in the general direction Victus had gone. Garrus handed them several packages of medigel, and they stared wide-eyed at the human woman beside him. Rising shakily to his feet, one of the soldiers balanced on one leg and snapped off a salute which Garrus and Shepard returned. Some gestures transcended the line between species.

After the assurance that the injured would be ok, they moved out again, Garrus' heart heavy.

"So Lola," James panted, breaking the din. "You really think this summit will work? Asari? Salarians? Where's the krogan and batarian. Where's the meat?"

"It's not that easy," she replied, and Garrus felt the weight of the galaxy settle on their shoulders.

They arrived to Beta outpost to find it swarming with reaper troops. Garrus and Shepard vaulted over the crumpled gate, sprinting into the fray. He spun, searching for decent cover. He found it in the form of a rock spire, ten feet tall and just as wide. Ducking behind it, he pulled Shepard with him, their armor knocking together, James not far behind. She eyed the top of the boulder and grinned. Quickly, Garrus knelt and interlaced his fingers together. She stepped a booted foot into them, and he heaved her up. She landed gracefully on the top of the rock, already pulling her Widow off her back. James shook his head in indignation.

"See if you can get that brute over here," she said over the comm.

"Once wasn't enough, Shepard?" Garrus quipped, lobbing a grenade into a crush of husks.

"The last one was too much fun. You should try it!"

Garrus snorted and motioned for Vega to cover the other side of the boulder. Thankfully there was only one brute, and the two males watched as Shepard launched herself at the breast, driving her omniblade into its back. Its fall shook the ground, and she spun to dispatch a husk that had crept up behind her.

Several soldiers had stationed themselves on the roofs of shelters, taking pot shots at husks as they sprinted by. Garrus grit his teeth together. "Snipers!" he shouted, voice carrying across the outpost. "Target the marauders!"

With some direction, the soldiers started to hold their own. He waved Shepard and Vega forward into the depths of camp.

"There!" he shouted, pointing towards a barricaded shelter.

Victus quirked a smile as Garrus sprinted towards him. Let's hope he's in a good mood when I tell him that he has to leave the fight to play politics. He felt Shepard come to a stop at his right. Her mouth was set in a hard line, and she was bleeding freely from a cut on her forehead. With the paint, she looked downright feral.

"General Victus?" she asked, stepping forward. "I'm Commander Shepard of the _Normandy_."

"Ah _Commande_ _r_ ," Victus drawled. "I know who you are." He leveled a look at Garrus. "I can't wait to see what brings you out here."

Garrus cleared his throat nervously. Shepard knitted her brows together. "General? You're needed off planet. I've come to get you."

"It will takes something of utmost importance to leave my men or my turian brothers and sisters in the middle of a fight." Victus shook his head solemnly.

"Fedorian was killed." Garrus took a deep, steadying breath. "You're the new primarch."

"You're needed immediately to chair a summit and represent your people in the fight against the reapers," Shepard said, squaring her shoulders. Garrus watched as Victus pushed past her, stopping to stare up at the smoldering orb of their home world. He was silent for several moments, and Garrus put a hand on Shepard's arm, stopping her from going to him.

"I'm primarch of Palaven?" Victus said quietly. "Negotiating for the turian Hierarchy?" Garrus could hear the pain resonating in the male's subvocals. Victus turned back to them. "I've spent my whole life in the military. I'm no diplomat. I hate diplomats."

"What makes you think you're not qualified?" Shepard asked.

"I'm not really a 'by the book' kinda guy. And I piss people off."

Garrus barked out a laugh and Victus shook his head. "My family's been military since the Unification War. War is my life. It's in my bones." He sighed. "But that kind of dedication is deceptive. It can make you seem reckless when you're anything but."

"War is your resume." Shepard's voice was hard. "At a time like this, we need leaders who have been through that hell."

Victus chuckled warmly, staring at the woman. "I like that. You're right."

"And honestly? Uniting these races may take as much strength as fighting the reapers." She left Garrus' side and strode forward, gesturing to the wreck of a frigate. "See this devastation? Double that for Earth. I need an alliance. I need the turian fleet."

Victus walked forward, stopping in front of her. Garrus held his breath as the two individuals sized each other up; his good friend, leader of his people, and his mate, de facto leader of her people. Their intensity sent a chill down his spine.

"Give me a few minutes to say goodbye to my men." He turned and walked back into the shelter. Shepard moved back to Garrus' side, hands clenched into fists.

"Without him down here, there's a good chance we lose this moon," he said quietly. She shook her head.

"Without him up there, we may lose everything."

He felt a catch in his throat, and turned to watch the massive form of a reaper make its way across the terrain. "Look at that. And they want my opinion on how to stop these things? Failed C-Sec officer, vigilante...and _I'm_ their expert advisor?" He turned, his eyes searching hers, taking in the sight of her. The thought of life without her was almost enough to making him fall to his knees. They had come together in a time of war, tempered by the impossible tasks laid before them. He couldn't have done it without her. "Do you really think we can win this?"

She raised her chin and set her jaw, looking every bit the warrior she was. It took his breath away to see her silhouetted against the smoldering ruin of his home world. The galaxy's hope. Commander Shepard. Ahyoka. His mate.

"We have to," she supplied with gravity. "You promised me forever, remember?"


	4. IV

She hit the deck running the moment the shuttle settled in the _Normandy_ 's cargo bay. Stripped of her armor, she donned her SR-2 uniform. The Alliance blues hung in the corner of her closet, neglected. She still had trouble seeing herself wearing the uniform of the people who incarcerated her, ignored her warnings, stripped her of her rank, and reinstated it without a fuss. Chakwas laughed when Shepard popped into the medbay to see how she was settling in. "We match, Commander!" she said with a knowing look in her eyes.

After vid conferences with the asari councilor and Admiral Hackett, Shepard leaned heavily against the comm controls, taking deep, steadying breaths. As part of Victus' agreement to leave Menae and help chair the summit, he wanted a krogan-turian alliance. The asari were sitting this round out, of course, and the salarian dalatrass…was a bitch. Plain and simple. Shepard ran a gloved hand over her face. She hadn't slept since leaving Earth. Almost fourty-two hours non-stop, including active combat. She groaned and made her way into the war room.

Victus was watching the vid screen in front of him with such intensity, he didn't look up until she cleared her throat to announce her presence. If she hadn't been so attuned to turian body language, she may have thought he was annoyed with her. Instead, she could tell he was studying her, watching the minute changes she made in her stature as they sized each other up.

Victus was striking, as far as turians went. Dark plates, white markings and piercing orange eyes, he was even taller than Garrus, though not as muscular across his shoulders and cowl. He had a graceful and calming manner about him when out of armor. They stood in silence for several moments before he broke the quiet.

"Commander, I want to thank you for allowing me the use of your ship. And for going along with this plan." Without the background noise of active combat, Victus was soft spoken and relaxed, a slightly less intimidating force. He gave her a warm smile. "Garrus said he had to attend to the Normandy's weapons systems. Something about…calibrations."

Shepard smiled. In her hurry to respond to the many messages and vid comm requests she had queued up upon their return, they hadn't had a chance for a private moment. Garrus understood. It was her job as commander to make sure her ship and her crew was running seamlessly. He was bunked down in the main battery, mainly for appearances. She had already planned on bringing his scant belongings up to her quarters. "That sounds like Garrus." She sighed, and pulled her braid over her shoulder, twisting the ends between her thumb and forefinger. "I'm sorry to say the asari councilor won't be joining our summit. She believes there's too much bad blood with the krogan."

Victus leaned his weight onto one hip, tapping a finger against his mouth. "She may be right. But there will be a lot more blood – real blood – if we don't try."

"Well, when you put it that way…" Her voice trailed off and she sighed. "I'm sorry you had to leave Menae. Leaving Earth to save it? It wasn't an easy decision for me, either."

He lifted his chin, eyes searching hers. "I'm not surprised. Garrus speaks very highly of you." He stepped closer, hands behind his back. "You never asked to be a leader, and yet your people would die if you refused. We find ourselves in similar circumstances. Let's hope the spirits give us the strength to see it through."

 _We need more than that_. She gritted her teeth, balling her fists at her sides. "Our people are dying. We all have differences, but we all are mortal. And instead of being untied by our mortality, we hold on to grudges that have been passed down for hundreds of years." She sighed, and shook her head. "Our people fought each other less than a generation ago. Yet you and I stand before each other, as allies. Why is it so easy for us? Were the deaths not the same? Was life extinguished and not returned? I've walked through death, and I came back. I know what lies beyond the mortal world. To say it doesn't terrify me would be a lie. But I would gladly lay my life down not only for my people, but for the entire galaxy."

Victus studied her for a moment, letting the silence stretch tight between them. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced heavily with subvocals. "There are legends that my people have, of individuals being reincarnated in the form of certain spirits. Several times in my life I have stumbled across these... _pentrale_. Shepard, you stand before me, and I do not see a human. I see a warrior spirit, dressed in mortal flesh." His mandibles flared in amusement. "And quite a large part of me believes you may have been turian in another life."

Shepard stared for a moment, searching his face for any sign of mirth. Finding none, she smiled. "You're not the first person to tell me that, Primarch. I have heard many times from Garrus that I was born the wrong species."

Victus flared his mandibles wide, bemused. "I do not believe he would care for you as much as he does if you were turian."

She quirked an eyebrow and he grinned.

"I fought alongside your mate for months, Commander. We turians are inquisitive individuals when it comes to our comrades. While the information was not given up freely, I hope you know you can trust my discrepancy."

"They would have used him to get to me," she whispered. "They still could." She plucked at her ship suit, frowning. "I can't even bear to wear the uniform of my military, after the injustices they have shown me. Their negligence and naivety cost humanity billions of lives. We may win this war, but I will never be what the Alliance wants me to be. Not anymore. And until this is over, they can't know. I've already put him in enough danger, just by associating with me."

Victus touched her shoulder gently, a surprisingly human gesture. "You have my support, Shepard. Garrus has become a good friend."

"Thank you, Primarch. That means more to me than you know."

He squeezed her shoulder before dropping his arm, a smile on his face. "Please, Shepard, call me Adrien. Or Victus. I'm…not sure I'm used to the title yet."

"I think I can do that, Victus. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to see a man about some calibrations."

His deep laugh followed her out of the room, warming her chest.

* * *

 

Garrus ran a hand over his face in frustration, the smell of Menae and battle still sharp on his skin. The Alliance retrofit had greatly improved both the battery and the Thanix, but had also negated any work he had done to the cannons previously. He was pulling several wires out of a panel when the lights began to flicker on and off. Power fluctuations? He thought, and watched as several wires sparked. He felt the hum of the FTL drive suddenly die - bracing himself as the inertial dampeners struggled to catch up. As quickly as it happened, he felt the tell-tale drone of the engines kick back on, and he shook his head. Joker must have pushed the wrong button, he thought, chuckling under his breath. Watching too much porn, probably.

He grunted and pried open an access panel, kneeling down to get a closer look and run diagnostics with his omnitool. The wires were a tragic mess. He would have to ask Shepard who was in charge of the Thanix retrofit...and perhaps use turian intimidation to demand answers from those responsible.

"Vakarian?" Victus' voice came over room-wide comm.

The primarch sounded amused. Garrus twisted two wires apart and jumped to avoid the shower of sparks. "Something you need, Primarch?"

"Cut the shit, Garrus. It's just Victus to you." There was a pregnant pause. "I just had an interesting conversation with your mate."

Garrus raised his head abruptly, knocking it on the metal of the panel opening. He hissed in pain as stars danced in front of his eyes, laying a hand on the sore spot to check for blood. "Remember that conversation we had about it not being public knowledge?"

Victus chuckled warmly. "I've already swept for bugs, Garrus. And I know you've done the same."

Garrus rolled his eyes. The primarch was correct; the first thing he had done upon settling back in the battery was run a scan for any hidden surveillance nodes. None were found, but old habits died hard.

"She's every bit as intriguing as I expected," Victus continued. "Perhaps even more so. You didn't mention she was _pentrale_."

Garrus paused. The thought had crossed his mind several times. The first being in the warm afterglow of Saren's defeat, as they stood among the wreckage of the Presidum and cheered, the swirl of smoke and fire surrounding her in her battle glory. The second time had been her crossing the bridge on Omega, like an apparition from his dreams, stealing his deathwish from him with just a single glance. The third had been after they limped back through the Omega 4 relay. She had dragged him up to her quarters, still covered in battle grime, and they had taken each other until he was sure their spirits touched. "I'm not sure that's something one broadcasts among humans. They don't seem to comprehend it as well as turians do."

"She seemed to take it just find when I mentioned it to her."

Garrus covered his eyes with a hand and groaned. "I'm going to pull every single one of your teeth out, Victus."

Adrien chuckled. "Now now, Vakarian. Threatening your primarch is considered treason."

"Surely you didn't take time out of your busy schedule just to tell me you've been harassing my mate."

"No. I didn't." Victus' voice sounded colder, harder. "Now with more reliable means of communication, I've been able to study the reports coming back from Palaven." His voice dropped, all hard vowels and sharp edges, subvocals laced with pain. "It's…spirits Garrus. It's not good. And we prepared."

"We may have had preparation, but we're up against the ultimate enemy. However, we had the forewarning, and we have the potential for victory." He sighed and began soldering several wires back to their proper places within the guts of the Thanix. "Our only chance of winning is standing together."

He heard the soft hiss of the battery door open, but didn't need to raise his head to know it was Shepard. Her scent filled the room. The sudden increase of his heart rate made the blood pound in his ears, almost drowning out Victus' voice.

"We've lost two of our dreadnaughts in a matter of hours."

Garrus pulled his mandibles tight to his face and sighed. "I know, Adrien. I'm seeing the same numbers."

"We need to turn things around, and fast."

"You can trust Shepard. If anyone can get the krogan to cooperate, it's her. She's an old friend of Urdnot Wrex."

"Let's hope friendship still stands for something in this war." The comm disconnected, and the room grew quiet.

Light footsteps on decking. He turned and straightened, mindful of his head this time. She was teetering on the balls of her feet, paused at the top of the stairs. Clad in an SR-2 uniform, she looked every bit the commander she was. Her clean scent told him she had showered, but the paint was still present. Her hair was longer, in its usual braid down her back. The left side had been shaved to the skin, and he could see a row of healing sutures running along her scalp. Her eyes met his, and they moved towards each other simultaneously. His armor made it difficult for him to press her close, but he lifted her up, encasing her in his arm. Her head found the crook of his shoulder, and her arms wrapped around neck.

"Ahyoka," he breathed, inhaling her scent, letting the memories flood back. "Spirits, I thought I had lost you again."

She raised her head to look at him, pressing her forehead against his. "When I heard about Palaven…"

He leaned back against a bulkhead and slid down, settling her in his lap. Her eyes were weary and tired. "I didn't hear about Earth until days after the attack on Alliance HQ. And with our comms down, and nothing getting in or out of the Sol System…It was almost like the SR-1 destruction all over again."

She tucked a gloved hand between his scarred mandible and cheek. "I don't have much time right now, and I would rather not dwell on the fact that we both thought the other was dead."

He growled, low in his throat. "When are you going to sleep, Shepard? You're not a mech."

"Soon. Right now, I want to ask you just how much our primarch knows in regards to the private lives of his…citizens."

Garrus rolled his eyes to the ceiling and cleared his throat nervously. "He uh…ehem. He accosted me about a certain mark…"

She slapped a hand to her face and groaned. "Is every turian this insufferable? I'm trying to keep you as safe as I can." Her mouth pulled down at the edges. "I love you. I know we can trust Victus. Especially if you say we can."

"We can."

She sighed and rested her head against his neck, letting him bury his face in her hair. "I can't do this without you, Garrus."

He pulled the side of her uniform collar down, cursing the high cut of it, and exposed the bare skin of her neck. She gasped as he ghosted his mouth over her throat. "Of course you could," he said huskily. "Just not as stylishly, of course." He punctuated his statement with a light nip.

"If you keep doing that, I won't get… _oh_ …get anything done...and I have a…war summit to attend."

Six months of separation and months of active combat made it nearly impossible for him to let her go. But, duty called. He stood, his arms still wrapped around her, and set her down gently. "If anyone can pull this off, it's you."

She rested her hands on his forearms and smiled up at him. "I'll try my hardest."

He nudged her forehead with his. "Go. Make history. I'll be right here, calibrating things."

* * *

 

In retrospect, Shepard was glad she had opted to not wash off her war paint. Stepping into the conference room was like taking a plunge in a cold pool, the atmosphere almost palpable. The salarian Dalatrass was already shouting at Wrex; Shepard gave the big krogan and pat on the shoulder as she passed him.

"The krogan is in no position to make demands!" the dalatrass spat in her reedy voice. Shepard heard Wrex' low growl.

"The 'krogan' has a name," he rumbled, red eyes narrowing. "Urdnot Wrex. And I'm not just some junkyard varren you unleash whenever you're in trouble." He looked at Shepard, and she gave him a nod to continue. "I've got my own problems. Reaper scouts have landed on Tuchanka." Wrex leveled a look at Victus. "So why should I care if a few turians go extinct?"

Shepard's gut twisted at the information. If the reapers had made it all the way out to the Krogan DMZ, their reach was farther than originally thought. And they were moving fast.

The primarch gave Wrex a look one would give a petulant child. "Drawing out negotiations will get you nowhere, Wrex. I have no time for it. Just tell us what you want."

"I'll tell you what I need." The krogan leaned his bulky frame against the table, staring at each of them in turn. There was a pause, filled with the drone of the Normandy's engines. Wrex narrowed his eyes and pulled his lips back in a sneer. "A cure for the genophage."

Predictably, the dalatrass threw her hands up in the air. "Absolutely not! The genophage is non-negotiable."

Shepard ground her teeth together. The salarians had played god with the krogan for over a millennia. She'd expected this request from Wrex - they had discussed it before in the presence of Mordin. She calmed her inner turmoil, but her voice still sounded like quiet fury. "Why are you so opposed to the idea, Dalatrass?"

"Because my people uplifted the krogan," she responded haughtily. "We know them best."

"You mean you used us!" Wrex countered. "To fight a war you couldn't win. It wasn't the salarians, or the asari, or even the turians that stopped the rachni. It was krogan blood that turned the tide."

"And after that you ceased to be useful. The genophage was the only way to keep your… _urges_ …in check." She said the last sentence in the manner one would discuss bowel movements in public - the disgust in her large, watery eyes present even through the shadow of her hood.

Shepard could hear Wrex grinding his teeth, and she met Victus' eye from across the table. The primarch had been quietly assessing the debate. Shepard already knew he would side with Wrex - the turians needed the krogan just as badly as the human did. Though she was still unfamiliar with him, his body language was clear enough. He gave her an almost invisible nod, and turned towards the salarian. "Dalatrass, you may not like him, but Wrex is right. Insulting him won't change that."

"I won't apologize for speaking the truth! We uplifted the krogan to do one thing: _wage war_. It's all they know because it's all we wanted them to know."

Mordin's voice filled her head. _Genophage perhaps the correct thing to do at the time. Now? Perhaps not. Times change. Needs change._

"Your people should have thought the matter through, then. Was it really a surprise the krogan revolted?"

"That's precisely my point, Commander. We made a rash decision. We turned to the krogan in desperation. It's the same mistake you're about to make today. No good can come from curing the genophage."

Wrex made to retort, but Shepard held up her hand. "The krogan have paid for their mistakes. The genophage has gone on long enough."

"One thousand, four hundred and seventy-six years, if you're keeping track." Wrex's clawed fingers clutched at the edge of the table, leaving deep gouges in the wood.

"It was one thousand years of peace from these…brutes!" the dalatrass spat back.

"Enough!" Victus yelled. Shepard had never heard the turian raise his voice, and she snapped her head up to stare at him, spine tightening. His voice, trained to carry over a battlefield, rang off the walls. "Whether or not they deserve a cure is academic. It would take years to formulate one."

"My information says otherwise," Wrex growled. He strode to the head of the table and stepped in front of Victus, pulling up a holo. Grainy footage, taken from a camera hidden somewhere on someone. Judging by the quick movements, Shepard guessed it to be a salarian. "A salarian scientist, Maelon, grew a conscience. He was on my planet testing a cure for our females."

Shepard frowned. "I remember him. His methods were barbaric."

"But what you didn't know, is that other females survived his experiments. So the dalatrass here, sent in a team to clean up the whole mess – and to take them prisoner."

Shadowy forms were appearing on the vid; the hulking forms of what Shepard knew to be krogan, standing in large tubes.

"Where did you get this?" the dalatrass shrieked. "It could be a fabrication!"

Shepard felt the atmosphere in the room thicken until it was almost tangible. Wrex slammed his fists on the table. "Don't insult me! Those are my people! They're immune to the genophage, and you're going to give them back!"

"Dalatrass, is this true?" Victus stepped up next to Wrex, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"How will curing the genophage benefit my people?" she retorted.

Sometimes, Shepard thought back to how simpler her life had been when she was just an Alliance marine. You got your orders, you shot things, you had shore leave, got drunk, and did it all over again.

"How long do you think you'll last alone against the reapers?" Shepard said quietly. Out of the corner of her eye, Victus narrowed his eyes in agreement. "I see the recognition on your face, Dalatrass. But this isn't the Rachni Wars. There are machines harvesting our people and turning them into fodder and shock troops. They are intent on wiping out every sapient species in the known galaxy. Do you think the reapers care if someone is salarian? At the end of the day, without the krogan, we're all dead."

Victus was at her side, nodding. "And I'll be the last friendly turian you'll ever see."

The dalatrass lowered her head in her hands. "The females are being kept at an STG base on Sur'Kesh." Shepard opened up the room comm so Joker could hear and began plotting a course. The salarian stepped forward, pointing a finger at her. "But I warn you, Commander. The consequences of this will be felt for centuries to come!"

"Stop." Shepard stepped forward, staring hard at the salarian female. "You seem to speak so surely of something that happened _so_ long ago, Dalatrass. A thousand years is twenty-five generations of salarians. For some krogan, it's only been one. I can tell you are approaching the end of your life, and you're only a few years older than me. Victus and I here? We still have a good eighty or ninety years left. Wrex? Hundreds. And when you're dead, and the next dalatrass steps up to take your place, she'll look at the devastation caused by the reapers, and she'll look to the krogan that helped protect your home world, and she'll _smile_."

The room was deathly quiet. Shepard's gaze didn't leave the dalatrass', but she could feel Wrex and Victus standing behind her. Boldened, she continued. "You claim to have so much knowledge of the krogan. If you did, then you would know Wrex is attempting to unite the clans on Tuchanka, to get them to stop fighting each other and rally together to help rebuild. You take away the devastation the genophage has caused, and there will be no more need for the krogan to kill each other over a fertile female. The new generations can be taught, can be educated. I promised Wrex that after this war is over, I'll send as many resources as I can to help build hospitals and schools. _That's_ how you control a population. With education, and the chance to live a happy life."

The dalatrass blinked slowly, stunned. Wrex growled and slapped a hand on Shepard's back, almost buckling her knees. "Let's go get the females."

"You're not setting foot on Sur'Kesh! This will take time to-"

Victus snapped his teeth together and growled. "It happens now!" He gestured to the commander. "As a Council Spectre, Shepard can oversee the exchange."

"We're going," the commander said, turning away from the table, Wrex at her side.

"I won't forget this, Commander!" the dalatrass yelled at their retreating forms. "A bully has few friends when she needs them most!"

Shepard had been away for almost three standard days; two and a half of which had been in and out of active combat. Always in control of her emotions, she felt her patience snap. She turned back to the conference room."By the time I have to deal with the 'consequences' of this decision," she said quietly. "You'll be dead. And hopefully the next Dalatrass understands the value of working together."

She turned on her heel and walked down the hall, Victus and Wrex at her side. Passing through security, she strode to Traynor. "Get the dalatrass the hell off my ship."

"Yes!" Trainer said quickly, snapping to salute. "I mean, aye aye, ma'am!"

Victus gave her a tight smile. "I'm glad you're on my side," he said.

"The same could be said for you, Victus," she replied with a tight smile. He gave her a nod and disappeared into the war room.

Shepard pressed her earpiece. "Garrus."

" _You made it out in one piece,_ " he quipped in response. She quirked a smile.

"Suit up. We're on our way to Sur'Kesh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any "turian" words used are basically Latin, because I am not a linguist (and I am lazy).


End file.
